LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



©]^np Gopirin^fa 

Shelf'.S.5"-fi-3 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



AFTER SUNSET 



POETICAL GEMS. 



/ 

BY Miss JESSIE FREMONT STEWART. 




<v^^ 



SPRINGFIELD, ILL. 
1891. 



?s^^ 



v^ 






Entered according? to act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundretJ 
and ninety-one, by 

Jessie Fkemont Stewart. 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



INTRODUCTION. 



W' 



H F^ followiii<»; poems were composed bj- Miss Jessie 
Fremont Stewart, voinio-est child of the hite James 
*- and Eliza Stewart, whose home is situated three 
miles north of Percy, in Randolph county', Illinois. 

The ambition of the authoress, from her early childhood, 
was to be a poetess, and her first attempt at rhyme was 
the April I^etter contained in this book. Findino- that she 
had talent for that which she had ever desired, she con 
tinned improving,- the same, and to-da^^ she presents to 
the public her book of poems, which she has named After 
Sunset — which, if providence be willing, will be followed 
later by another volume, containing several of the songs 
in After Sunset, accompanied b^^ the music, which is also 
original with the authoress. 

Hoping that After Sunset will meet the approA-al 
of all its readers, I will close, with best wishes. 

Jessie F. Stewart. 

Springfield, 111. 



DEDICATED TO MY YOUNGEST SISTEU, 

Miss PHEBE I). STEWART, 

Now OF DuQuoiN. III. 

^Tft^fEAlA SISTER— Althouf;li there are otliei- ineiiibers of 
:f^v)j our family for whom my heart beats warmlj-, and 

^-^" to whom I would gladly confer every mark of deep- 
est respect, yet 1 make the dedication of After Sunset to 
you, as it would seem that providence had set us apart 
from the rest, that each might be the companion and sole 
comforter of the other, and to which you have so largely 
contributed. And though many miles lie between us to- 
day, yet our love extends along the line by which we are 
separated until it forms a hap])y union, as did you and I. 
when we, in our childhood, rambled here and tiiere through 
the many pleasant surroundings of our beautiful farm 
home, in sight of which our beloved parents now sleej); 
and though their graves are dear to us, yet they strike 
in our hearts a pang not easily subdued. 

Yes, Phebe, in referring to our childhood days, few, if any, 
were ever more bright than ours— the pleasures of which are 
buried, as it were, in the past— yet, were it possible, my 
heart would reclaim them for the present, as life then was 
uiore happy than now, though to-day I step out in the 
world a writer, the authoress of After Sunset, to be 
admired, no doubt, by some and harshly criticised by 
others; yet I know one heart that will beat with admira- 
tion, and deem After Sunset a victory achieved by her 
companion fi'om birth. So farewell, dear sister, till we 
meet again. 

Tours in love, 

Jessie E. Stewart, 

Springfield, 111. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

My Prayer 1 

Christmas is Coining 2 

Haste, Locomotive 3 

A Double Searc'li 4 

April Letter 5 

Tlie Penitent Child 6 

The Temperence Band 6 

I Loved Him 7 

'Twas Jesus, Blessed Jesus 8 

A Wish Granted 8 

Eilna's App<>al to her Kejeetf^d Lover 9-16 

Th<> Unconoious Maiden Hi 

The Lone Hour 17 

Kiss Me Good Night 18 

The Sweetest Gii-1 on Earth 19 

Bitter-Sweet 19 

The Drunkard's Hovel 20-22 

Love Can't be Offended 23 

To My Mother's Memory 23 

The Lost Love ". 2-t 

Edward 25 

Cape of Good Hope 25 

Only to l>e a Mary 26 

To my Father's Memoiy 26 

The Dying Lover 27 

Only for This 28 

Justice as Plaintiff 29-32 

The Stolen Retreat 33 

The Moon's Storv to the Sun 34 

My Favorite Vine 34 

A Maiden's Prayer 3.i 

Tlie Soul's Inquiry 36 

I'ig for Dinner 37 

My Own Dear Nell 38 

The Half Eaten Meal 39 



VI CONTENTS. 

PA(iE. 

B<']vio, Her (^\vn Avonger -40-42 

Little Edna 42 

The Ungnitel'ul Daughter 43-4(5 

My Fancy 47 

None but an Auieriean Bom 48 

The First Waterfall 49 

Mothei- 50 

After His Coining 50 

D. W. Fountain f)! 

A Present r)2 

The Geographical Elver of Life 52 

The Unfortunate Born ' 5:J 

On that Night in June 54 

The Darkey Lover 55 

Another lliver to Cross ... 5() 

Ye Soft Sighing Winds r>7 

The Aniversary of a Maiden's Grief 58-(i() 

A Maiden's Sorrow (U)-(il 

Our Mortgaged Home. ! 62-(>:; 

Wine Did it All G4-(>« 

The Drummer Boy Oil 

When You Did Me Betray 70-71 

When We Sat in the Moonshine, Edward 71-72 

J. W. Snodgrass 73 

At the Sharps 74-70 

Pardon Souglit 7() 

In Memoriam 77-7!S 

Addressed to My Mother , 78 

County Antrim's Son 79-8(1 

The Only Child 80 

The Anxious Bride Elect 81 

Ghded By 82 

A Maiden's Address to her Lover 83 

Christmas Eve 84-8() 

The Flower Taken 87 

Fixing His Tent for the Night 88 

Sraarty Had a Party 89 

Till Death Us Part * 90 

Hushed is the Voice of our Darling 91 

The End of the Three 92-9:; 

Killed by the Midnight Train 93-95 

Hail, Christmas Morn 95 

Dying on the Old Camp C4round 9(5 

The Death Angel's Visit 97-98 

Dreaming of the Joys Once Known 98-9!> 



CONTEA'TS. Vll 

Page. 

Back at the Dear Home Again ' 100 

Dear Little Ones 101 

The Wayward Son 102-103 

Faces Loved in Youth 103 

What is My Life to Me 103 

God Bless the Dear Old Eightieth 104 

Got Her Own Words Baok 105-108 

My Wish To-night 108 

Death Unexpected 109 

AVanted a Divorce 110-1 1 2 

Heedless of the Coming Train 112-113 

When Christ Comes 114-lltt 

The Picture Over the Way • 117 

Friendship's Fancy , 118-120 

I Beg Pardon 120 

Good as Gold 121 

A Walk in Sorrow 122 

Don't Think I Meant to Slight Thee 123 

Thou Blessed 124 

Long Ago 125 

Ere We, Dear Bert, Did Part r 126 

Flag of the Eightieth 127-129 

Advertised 129 

Andersonville 130-131 

AVhen Far Distant 132 

My Departure 132 

Few 132 

A Fact Founded in Fancy 133 

Autographs 133-134 

Dear Christ 135 



MY PRAYER. 

[2), LESSED Savior keep me ever thoughtful of Thy open 
side. 
From whence there flowed a crystal fountain ebbing 
witli a peaceful tide. 

Keep me ever, ever thoughtful of Tliy death on Cal- 
vary, 

Keep me thoughtful of Thy life-blood, which was drip- 
ping there for me. 

Blessed Savior keep me thoughtful of Thy dying 

agony, 
Of the groans which Thou didst utter on the cruel 

cross for me. 

Keep me ever, ever thoughtful of that agonizing 

sight, 
Where alone on yonder mountain Thou did'st pray 

at dead of night. 

All alone on yonder mountain breathing low a solemn 

• prayer, 
While asleep were Thy disciples, little thinking of Thy 
care. 

Little thinking of the trouble which enclosed Thy 

weary breast. 
Whereon I hope, in heavenly mansions, to find my 

sweetest rest. 

Blessed Savior help me ever to obey Thy holy will. 
That I may hear, when death assails me, Thy sweet 
whisper, "Peace, be still." 



AFTER SUNSET. 

CHRISTMAS IS COMING. 

IN MEMOKY 0¥ MY MOTHER AND ADDRESSED TO SISTER PHEBE. 

J/f^ HRISTMAS is coming again, sister, but little pleas- 
^ ure it brings, 

For the one who made us a happy home, in heavenly 
mansions sings. 
She has crossed o'er death's cold river, passed through 

its shining foam. 
But her memory still we cherish in our lone and 
dreary home. 

Christmas is coming again, sister, its joys you and I 

could share 
If yonder grave had ne'er been made, had ne'er been 

needed there ; 
But the form which it incloses, sealed forever from 

our eyes, 
Till Ave, too, shall cross death's river and above its 

billows rise. 

Christmas is coming again, sister, and our ties are 

scattered wide. 
But the one that was dearest to us has crossed over 

Jordan's tide. 
She has crossed the river, sweetly wrapped in the 

Savior's love. 
Though helpless here on earth below, thank God, she 

walks above. 

Christmas is coming again, sister, and still through 

the on-coming years, 
We, two, shall be hapless orphans with no one to dry 

our tears. 
With no loving one ever ready our many wants to 

supply, 
For she is gone from earth forever, forever from you 

and I. 



AFTER SUNSET. 

HASTE, LOCOMOTIVE. 

LEVYING ST. LOUIS TO VISIT MY HOME. 

l/^^ HASTE, locomotive, flv on with the train, 
\\ vfr- F^^' I "1 lono'lng- to visit my okl home again ; 
^^^^i The minutes seem hours as you stop on the way, 
So haste, locomotive, haste homeward, I pray; 
Though fifty odd miles lie between home and me, 
Where my poor heart is anxiously waiting to be, 
Yet the distance seems twice that, so quicken thy speed. 
That the heart of this prison-bound soul may be freed. 

O Jiaste, locomotive, yes, quicken thy speed, 

That my heart from its anguish may know itself freed ; 

For I'm longing to visit the home of my birth. 

Which home is to me the dearest on earth, 

For there did I play when naught but a child. 

Then what is the wonder that now I'm so wild 

To visit the home where my parents so dear. 

Once hushed all my sorrow and calmed every fear. 

haste, locomotive, why tarry along! 

You could surely go faster, because thou art strong; 
Methinks if I only thy strength could possess, 

1 could cover the distance in an hour or less. 
So haste, locomotive, 'tis late, as you see,- 

But darkness can't stand between that haven and me; 
I'll reach it to-night, for no distance (tan lay 
Between home and me, though dark be the way. 

O haste, locomotive, for I'm longing to hear 

The brakeman call out the name of PeiTv so dear, 

'Tis dear to my heart, because it's near to my home, 

Where so oft in my fond childish glee did I roam; 

At last have I reached thee, the home of my birth. 

Which home is to me the most sacred on earth, 

And I stand, as in awe, 'neath the moon's gentle gleam, 

To think that to me e'en the weeds sacred seem. 



AFTEK SUNSET. 



A DOUBLE SEARCH. 

.N a cottage near the forest 

Dwelt a maiden voung and fair. 

With blue eyes of the deepest hue. 
And a mass of golden hair. 

This fair and youthful maiden, 

In the summer often went 
To the woods to gather flowers. 

And many hours thej'e she spent. 

But one day not returning. 

When her mother thought she should, 
The mother put her bonnet on, 

And walked right to the wood. 

But O! her search was all in vain. 

And in her deep despair 
She missed her way, fell in a ditch. 

In a ditch, she knew not where. 

She saw an object coming near, 
She stood and held her side, 

For thought she it might be a witch. 
And in her grief she cried : 

Who's there, and for what are you out? 

In sobs which she could not smother. 
The answer came with an awful squall, 

I'm out in search of mothei*. 



AFTE« SUNSET. 



APRIL LETTER. 



UlJLI) J but ovvu Australia's mines, 
Lc And the British Empire too, 

I would deem my Avealth a mere trifle, 
If with 'it I had not you. 

Oh, if our hearts united were, * 

My life would be a cloudless sky, 

I'd ask no sweeter joy on earth, 
Than in thy arms to live and die. 

And in the future could I lean 

My head upon thy breast. 
Naught I'd care for the cold world's frowns, 

So sweet would be my rest. 

Then, when thy footsteps I would hear, 

I would meet you at the door, 
I'd smile my sweetest smile on you 

And ask for nothing more. 

I would crown your life with roses. 
Your pathway strew with ferns. 

And gladly give my heart and hand 
To my darling, Robert Burns. 

But should you to another give 

The love for which I pray. 
On a broken heart the sun would set. 

And rise on my cold clay. 

Why do you live a single life? 

A man so good, so brave, so true, 
When you a youthful bride could wed. 

Only a score of years have I passed through- 

So of life T very little know. 
But I deem it a sorrowful school. 

Yet one sweet pleasure in it I find. 
And that is to love you. April fool. 



AFTE1{ SUNSET. 



THE PENITENT CHILD. 

' BRING to Thee my trouble all, 
! As on my knees, dear Lord. I fall, 
* Beneath Thy rod I humbly bow 
To ask a blessing- of Thee now. 

I come to Thee, O blessed God, 
To bow beneath Thy chast'ning rod 
And ask, yes ask Thy pardon now, 
As to Thy will I humbly bow. 

At first Thy will did bitter seem, 
As Thy chast'nings sore did o'er me stream, 
Dear Lord, 'twas bitter then, but now 
'Tis sweet, since to Thy will I bow. 

So help me Lord to be reconciled, 

Yes, hear and help Thy penitent child, 

That from this on I may be free 

From my will, which now I resign to thee. 




THE TEMPERANCE BAND. 

r ONDER, on life's golden harbor, 
V. Sails a little temperance band; 
Join it, father, join it, brother, 
Ere it gains the golden strand. 

See their glorious banner waving — 
"Touch not, taste not, handle not" 

Is the motto on their banner. 
There inscribed without a blot. 

Yes, the temperance banner 's waving 
O'er a band of gallant braves. 

Who have signed her golden pledges 
Not to fill drunkards' liTaves, 



AFTER SUNSET. 

Aid the temperance cause, dear brother, 
Hurl her royal standard hig-h; 

Chime with it the blest Hosanna, 
Then to you the victory 's nigh. 

Take the pledge, fallen brother, 
And, within thy palsied hand, 

Take the pen that freed the millions 
Held by tyranny in our land. 

Yes, the pen did ])roye the weapon 

Which abolished slavery, 
And, if used in faith in Jesus, 

'Twill give freedom unto thee. 



I LOVED HIM. 

I.. LOVED him, but they said that he 
j Did love another more than me, 
-» And that did break my heart in twain, 
To think his love I could not gain 
And mine for him was all in vain. 

I loved him but he loved me not, 
And another to the altar brought. 
And pledged to her the love which I'd 
Have given all my life, 3'es died 
To have won, and been his chosen bride. 

I loved him, and I will alway. 
Yes, love him while on earth I stay. 
And, if upon that blissful shore 
We meet when this sad life is o'er, 
I'll love him still, yes more and more. 



« 



AFTER SUNSET. 




'TWAS JESUS, BLESSED JESUS. 

'/IIO was it bore our load of sin, 

And from its weight did moan within. 
And left not in that bitter cup 
A dreg for you, or me to sup? 
'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. 

Who was it died on Calvary's Mount, 
And from His side there flowed a fount 
There flowed a fountain full and fi-ee, 
There flowed a fount for you and me? 
'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. 

Whose body on the cross was sent, 
While hours of agony there it spH>nt, 
That all the world might happy be, 
And cleansed from all iniquity? 
'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. 

Who bore His cross, when well he knew 
That He'd be crucified for you, 
And to the world great love he showed, 
When fainting 'neath its heavy load? 
'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. 



A WISH GRANTED. 

FT 1 wept, and in my sorrow 

Wished that I could find a friend, 
One to take the place of mother, 
One who would their sympathy lend. 

To my heart, which knew but sorrow. 
Since that horrid cruel night. 

That my idol wronged me sorely, 
Making dark the paths once bright.. 

And at last I found a person, 
Found a friend who gave me rest, 

For his presence was so sacred 
That it calmed mv wearv breast. 



AFTER SUNSET. 1> 



EbNA'S APPEAL TO HER REJE(^TEI) LOVER, 

OR, THK KETHOSPECr OK A SHI PV\ KECK. 

'[ir ON ELY sat she by the ocean, lookiug- o'er its 
|^> mif^-lity main, 

'^^"7^ Watching for the shijx to anchor, which would bring 
her love again. 

Sat she there in silence, waiting, where tiie ship would 

ne'er again 
Anchor, foi- she's lost her rudder, and her steerage 

is in vain. 

All unconscious of this trouble, which would soon be 

hers to know, 
Foi' on board that once grand vessel, every heart han 

felt its blow. 

And the steersman's cries still sounded o'er the ship. 

above, Vjelow: 
The vessel's lost her rudder, fate has dealt her cruel 

blow ! 

Then the captain wildly uttered : lost is every man 

on board ! 
And the crew on board that vessel knelt, while every 

voice was lowered, 

Knelt, because they saw the signal, given by the 

second-mate. 
Whose sweet and beaming ciounteuance calmed them 

e'en in such a state. 

Then, in tones of sweetest accents, rose his voice in 
solemn prayer, 

And though the horrid winds were sweeping, yet he- 
prayed in calmness there: 



10 AFTER SUNSET. 

We, Thy inideservinji; creatures, who must pass beneath 

Thy rod, 
Come and humbly beg* tlie mercy, of Thee, Abnighty 

God. 

If it be Thy will, Father, that this crew can never 

now 
Reach the land, our homes, our mothers, to Thy will 

we humbly bow. 

But, God, the mate continued, there is one on 

yonder plain, 
If it be Thy will, O Father, let me see her face 

again. 

Thus, while praying, little thought he that the one 
for whom he prayed, 

Lonely sat upon the sea shore, where their loving- 
vows were made. 

And there waited for the coming of the ship, but wait 

was vain. 
For she hears its moaning whistle sounding o'er the 

sunny plain. 

It's a wreck, ray God! she uttered, save my Edward, 

he's my all, 
And again its moaning whistle stunned as would a 

cannon ball. 

Wildly beat her heart with terror, as she sobbed those 

words, God save! 
"Save, and by Thy help I'll rescue Edward from a 

watery grave. 

Still she sobbed in bitter anguish, uttering wildly 

with a groan, 
I will save the life of Edward, save his, though I lose 

my own. 



AFTER SUNSET. 11 

Slie was tliiiikinii," how to save him, not a Hfe-boat 

near the shore, 
Save but one, all weather beaten, and which only 

had one oar. 

This she took and braved the dangers of the ocean's 

briny deep. 
Oared she o'er its angr^^ waters, while with terror 

they did sweep. 

And thono-h all was dark around her, and the winds 

like torrents swept. 
Yet she braved it to the ship-yard, where her rejected 

lover slept. 

At his door she wildly knocked. Who is there? he 

sternly cries ; 
It is Edna, Falsed, Edna, help me e'er my lover 

dies. 

Then in haste the door was opened, and the maiden 

thus began : 
Falsed, you have ships and you can steer them, go 

as quickly as yoa can. 

True, Eve ships, and I can steer them, but to go is 

such a task, 
But I'll go for your sake, Edna, if you'll paj^ the 

price I ask. 

Or, in other words I'll put it, so that you may 

])lainly see, 
'Tis not money that I'am asking, but a greater 

prize to me. 

Name your price, and I will give it, or the prize, 

whate'er it be. 
If it is in my possession, I will gladly give it to 

thee. 



12 AFTKK SUNSET. 

Then 'tis settled, I'm the owner of the one wiiieh Ion**- 

I've sought, 
I no longer am unhappy, for at last the ]>rize I've 

ft'ot. 

At his feet she fell half fainting, 0, my God ! it can't 

be me ; 
All my wealth Til freely give you. but your wife I ne'er 

can be. 

Then your lover drowns, said Falsed : his will be a 

watery grave, 
For without thy hand in marriage, I'll not try his 

life to save. 

If I marry, 'twill be treachery, let him di'own, would 

murder be, 
Such were thoughts, which filled her boson) with the 

bitterest agony. 

Promise, though you do not mean it: ])romise, then 

your tears I'll dry. 
Thus he wound his web around her, as did the s])ider 

with the Hy. 

Then she turned in anguish from him, so her face he 

could not see. 
And slie faintly murmured: Falsed, go, and 1 will 

marry thee. 

Then his ship was soon seen sailing toward the wreck, 

her aid to lend, 
And with joy the crew beheld her, as she sailed around 
the bend. 

Still the second mate was j raying, blessed Lord, uv<\y 

it not be 
That a soul on this wrecked vessel will be wrecked in 

eternitv. 



AFTER SUNSET. 1-5 

All then left the wreck save !ulw{ii<l, and the maiden, 

liast'ning there, 
Heard him say those words: ''Poor Edna! help her, 

Lord, her grief to bear.'' 

Edward, ealmly spoke the maiden, as she kissed his 

marble brow, 
Here's a vessel for you waiting-, yon are safe from 

shipwreck now. 

Hut her voice was choked with sobbings: Edward — 

() ! I cannot tell— 
I'^alsed made— you'll spurn me, Edwartl — made me 

])romise — then she fell 

At his feet, while tears of an<»*uish nmde her lovely 

eyes grow dim. 

Made you promise what, my darlino? Made me — made 

me say I'd marry him. 

Then he clasped hej' to his bosom, kissed her on her 

tear-stained face, 
While he sat in fear and silence, as she told him her 

sad case. 

O you'll always spurn me, Edwai-d. Sjjnrn! Ah. no, 

I can't spurn thee; 
Hut a thousand times I'd have rather perished in the 

suro-ing sea, 

Than to have my life saved only just to break my 

heart in twain 
By the hearino- of such falseness, and to love you all' 

in vain. 

O! 1 nevei" meant to wed him — never thought he'd 

cause me to, 
'Till he said, as we were coming, as I'd said I'd have 

to do. 



14 AFTER SUNSET. 

If I didn't, that he'd pass you far enough that I could 

see, 
With ray own eyes, my love drownin"^, and then I 

promised, just for thee. 

Ah! my love, I ne'er can chide thee. Spurn thee! 

'twould be such a wrono-; 
But advice I'll give you, darling: list not to a devil's 

song; 

For he'll charm you every time, love, win the heart 

which should be mine, 
Making grief to fill my bosom, which I hope will ne'er 

reach thine. 

While the lovers still were musing, Falsed told the 

crew on board 
How she'd saved the old Avarped life-boat, and the 

bravery which she showed; 

And each cried, God bless the maiden, and to meet 

her did run. 
While he adds, she's mine to-mori-ow, at the setting 

of the sun. 

Then they met the fair young maiden coming in the 

arms of him 
Whom she cheiished more than millions,— more than 

worlds did she love him. 

And each sailor kissed the maiden,— kissed her on the 

sweet, sad face. 
E'en her hands were wet with kisses, while each did 

her form embrace. 

Then, when all were ready, waiting for the ship to 

start to sail, 
Falsed then approached poor Edna, and her face grew 

ghastly pale. 



AFTER SUNSET. 15 

Mine, my darlino:, then he whispered, but his sweet 

words only hissed 
In her ears as would a sei"j»ent, while her ghastly lips 

he kissed. 

And he led away his dai-ling from the one whom most 

she loved, 
While her cries rang o'er the vessel, but his heart still 

stayed unmoved. 

Then the sailors asked each other, who is this that 

she's to wed 
On the evening of to-morrow, as you know that 

stranger said ? 

No one knew; they then asked Edward, whose breath 

was coming hard and short, 
And he faintly murmured, Falsed ; but it should have 

been false heart, 

For he won her by falseness — she who was to be my 

bride 
When the ship would cease her steering on the ocean's 

surging tide. 

Then, when on that dreaded 'morro\v, when the di-eaded 

hour came. 
And upon the floor, half fainting, Edna stood, while 

Rev. Lane 

Asked her, "do you take this man?" and so on, and 

her lieait then tilled with fears. 
As she caught the gaze of Edward — saw his pained 

looks and his tears. 

Then a sob, and all was over, and poor Edna was 

no more. 
For the pained looks of her lover broke the still heart 

on the floor. 



16 aftp:r sunset. 

Kdward went, and on her forehead pressed a last sweet 

kiss thereon, 
And, within another moment, Edward's spirit, too, 

was <>,ono. 

Thus it seemed that none bnt Edward was to claim 

her for his bride, 
And the hearts that crushed each othei-, lay in their 

cold forms, side by side. 



THE rNCONSCrOlTS MAIDEN. 

f'' LOWLY the darkness was g'athering; around them, as 
S?^ they, in the twiiio-ht, were walkin<>' alone. 
/'"One was a doctor, fair as an angel, the other a maiden, 

whose heart he had won. 
The girl at his side was wild with enjoyment; she was 

'side of the one who most she adored ; 
Bnt soon her enjoyment w-as turned to excitement at the 

doctor's base words as his voice sickly lowered. 
Methinks he was going against his own conscience, for at 

first his voice faltered, his tongue seemed to swell, 
As he said "I'm a doctor, and doctors tell nothing," but 
the rest which he uttered I dare not to tell. 

The maiden's heart swelled with bitter emotion, as the 

doctor still tried his advances to gain. 
And in trying he called her pet names, which just only 

caused the nmiden's heart an increase of pain. 
At last, seeing all his attentions were evil, she said, her 

,yonng heart then bursting with pain, 
"Doctor, I love you more than anyone living," hoping 

that this would his sympathy gain. 
Hut alas! his sympathy was far from that vii'gin : to do 

the wretch justice, we'll say had none; 
For, surely, if he'd cared for the love of the maiden, he 

would not have attempted the wrong to have done. 



AK'l'KU SINSKT. 17 



Till-: LONK iioru. 

N my loneliness I'm sittinj;", tliiiikinji,' of the 

long ago, 
When no shadows loomed ai-ound me, when 

mv bosom knew no throe. 



l»nt to-night is largely different from the time 

which long has passed, 
For to-night dense clouds hnng oVi- me, while 

my tears are falling fast. 

Tears of angnish, O 1 wonder why tliese bitter 

tears I shed : 
<iod. in pity look upon me!— pity one that's 

worse than dead. 

l-'or if I were only sleeping 'neath the sod 

'twould better be, 
Than to wear my life out weeping — weeping, 

O so bitterly. 

P>ut. dear Fathei', thou hast told us that you 

chasten those you love: 
<)! if 'tis but Thy chastisement, then I've ])ity 

from above. 

For I know now that you love me, else you 

would not chasten me; 
So, then, fi'om my cheeks so pallid, wipe the 

teai-s that bitter be. 



15 AFTER SUNSET. 

KlfeS ME ({OOD NIGHT. 

'^.^J^ISS me good night, mother, for soon will I be 
]|«^ Away from m}^ home, and away from thee; 
^'r^ Let nn^ head lean on thy bosom awhile 
And lighten my heart with thy sunny smile. 

Kiss me good night, mother, my hand take in yours^ 
May they be clasped on the golden shores; 
May the}" be clasped, as they are to-night, 
Sweetly together in yon land of light. 

Kiss me good night, mother, that sweet be my rest, 
Let me again lean my head on thy breast, 
Kiss me and press ine again to thy heart. 
Mother, dear mother, before we must part. 

Kiss me good night, mother, my tears dry away, 
Just as you did in an earlier day. 
Lean your sweet face on mine, burning with pain, 
And 0! dry my tears which are falling like rain. 

Kiss me good night, mother, the time's diawing near 
That severs the ties which are bound so dear, 
The time will soon come, then how can I rest. 
When robbed of the joy of thy presence so blest. 

Kiss me good night, mother, again let me lay 
My head on thy breast, and then mother pray, 
Pray that we'll meet on a brighter day. 
On the sw^eet shores of heaven forever to stay. 

Kiss me good night, mother, the time has now come 
That I must leave thee, and my own dear home; 
Quiet the throbbings which encircle my heart, 
Mother, dear mother, before we must part. 

Kiss me good night, mother, once more 1 embrace 
The one that I love, and I kiss thy sweet face; 
God grant that we meet above yonder blue sky, 
Good bye, darling mother, good bye, 0! good bye. 



AFTER SUNSET. 

THE SWEETEST GlEL ON EARTH. 

HE'S the sweetest little girl that ever lived 

oil earth, 
The prettiest girl in all the town, and has 

been since her birth. 

She's the sweetest little girl, — I jnst wish 

yon could see, 
When she meets me in the garden and smiles 

so sweet on me. 

She's the sweetest little girl that e'er a 

fellow had ; 
It always makes me happy to see her when 

I'm sad. 

And 'tis true I wouldn't leave her not for 

all Great Britain's worth, 
For I ne'er could find her equal — she's the 

sweetest girl on earth. 



19 




BITTER-SWEET. 

MAIDEN fair, though bowed with grief. 
Once took a stroll to find relief, 

And chanced to walk near bitter-sweet. 
The vine then cheerfully seemed to say: 
Take this, and di-ive thy grief away — 

Take thee, of bitter-sweet. 

O no! she said, with eyes of mist, 
Which told a tale of needed bliss, 

My grief was caused from bitter-sweet, 
Because my love was all in vain, — 
My love, which flowed like summer rain, 

But proved naught else but bitter-sweet. 

She stood and gazed upon the vine. 
Whose tendrils 'round the bush did twine, 

And thought of bitter-sweet. 
So clings my wounded heart to thee, 
But wishes from thy tendrils free 

From thee, O bitter-sweet! 



20 AFTER SUNSET. 

THE DRUNKARD'S HOVEL. 

lIpT was dark in the drunkard's hovel, 
j|; Not a gleam of light on the wall, 
■^ When the angel of death at the hovel did knock, 
And the mother did answer the call. 

She clasped her six-year old darling 
To her bosom, so thin and bare, 

And asked God's blessing on it, 
Ere she left it motherless there. 

No one at her wake was sitting 

Save her child, Avho sat and wept, 

Till sleep caused the infant head to droop, 
And she slept on her mother's breast, 

Until waked in the morn by the halloo 

Of the man who came around 
To bear away her mother's corps. 

To place in the silent ground. 

She was buried in a pauper's coffin, 

Where the flowers grow rank and wild, 

And all the procession that followed her there, 
AVas her broken-hearted child. 

Who watched as they lowered the coffin? 

In the grave so dark and deep, 
Till the sexton began to shovel the dirt. 

And then she began to weep. 

O don't! she cried, as she '-aught his arm. 
Mamma's coffin I still must see; 

The only friend I have on earth, — 
Don't cover her up from me! 



AFTKK SUXSKT. 21 

He was moved by her cries, but he shovels on 
Till the grave in a little heap stands, 

And when, with his shovel, he patted it down. 
She patted it, too. with hei- hands. 

The grave being finished, the two i-eturn 

To the homes from whence they had come — 

He to his plenty, she to her naught. 

The cause being hei- father's use of rum. 

She enters the lonely hovel, 

Where no earthly voice is known. 
Yet there is something that seems to whisper, 

Thou art not yet left alone. 

And it made her think of her mother. 

Ere death took her away. 
Telling her to trust in Jesus, 

And at this she began to pray : 

Dear Jesus, when mamma was dying. 
She said she'd leave me in your care ; 

That you'd riches untold up in heaven; 

That you'd plenty of bread "and to spare." 

She said you would always befriend me. 
When enemies around me would come; 

So now, blessed Jesus, I ask Thee 
To shield from the enemy rum. 

^ly papa spends all of his earnings 

Inside of yon lattice dooi-; 
He spends it for rum, blessed Jesus, 

The cause of my being so poor. 

I^ast Sabbath I went to yon church there. 

And stood silently out by the door, 
l'\)r I was ashamed to enter, 

1 was so dirty and ragged and ])oor. 



22 AFTER SUNSET. 

But I heard, as I list at the key-hole. 
The preacher tell, solemn and sweet, 

That the ravens once fed Elijah — 

Brouo-ht him bread and flesh to eat. 

And I wished, as I stood there, so luingTy, 
That the ravens would come and feed me, 

And bring me, if only a piece of dry bread — 
Just a piece of dry bread was my plea. 

Thus she ])ra3's till she sees her father. 

As she runs to meet him she said: 
Please, papa, I am so hungry. 

Won't you give me some money for bread? 

But he heeds not his offspring's beggings 
As he enters the gilted bar-room. 

While she follows slowly after, 

Saying, I'll ask the keeper for some. 

She went to the bar-room keeper; 

As he poured out the wine she said : 
You have given my papa liquor, 

I'lease, sir, will you give me some bread? 

But the sweet, childish voice was unnoticed, 

That is, no answer was given ; 
But though only a child, her words were not lost, 

For the Master heard her in heaven. 

And he called Gabriel to blow the trumpet 
For the angel of death to come. 

With his sickle, to pluck yon flower. 

That it might bloom in his heavenly home. 

For I've seen all of that poor child's sufferings, 
And have heard all the cold answers given. 

So haste to the hovel and bring it to Me, 
"For of such is the kingdom of heaven." 



AFTER SUiN'SET. 23 



LOVE CAN'T BE OFFENDED. 

OYE can't be offended, no. 
It will live while winds doth blow, 
It will live while shines the sun. 
It will live thon<>:h it you spurn. 
And while waters ebb and flow. 
Love can't be offended, no. 

Love can't be offended, no. 
It will live while gTasses grow, 
It will live while waters run. 
It will live while ag:es turn. 
Yes, while ages come and go. 
Love can't be offended, no. 



TO MY MOTHER'S MEMORY. 

I.T was nearing on to midnight, 
I In the moonlight's silent gleam, 
■> When her feet were yjattering over 
Death's cold and chilling stream. 

And I knew that she was going 

To a fair and better land, 
But, my heart burst forth the murmur: 

Father stay, stay Thy hand! 
But alafe, my prayer unanswered, 

I w'as doomed to be alone. 
Then my lips seemed clinched together, 

And my heart a mass of stone. 

But, O God ! when life is ended, 

May I see her lovely face. 
And be watted o'er the river. 

In mv mother's sweet embrace. 



24 AFTER SUNSET. 

THE LOST ]A)\E. 

SONG . 

^f HAVE loved, my heart's still yearnino-, 
fl| For the love which once I son<>;ht, 
^ But I found when left in ang-uish. 
That his love was dearly bought. 
Had I purchased, paid the value 

Of my life, perhaps my soul ! 
For my yearning- heart had thought him, 
Better far than heaven's goal. 

CHORUS. 

I may meet with better offers, 
But to me they'll all be vain. 

For I never, I can never, 
I can never love again. 

Once my heart was hght and happy. 

Till his words, I dare not tell, 
Housed me from a love-sick slumber, 

Causing every nerve to swell; 
Swell with only bitter anguish, 

While a coil around my heart. 
Of a. serpent sickly hissing, 

Striking then its poison dart. 

CHORUS. 

I may meet with better offers, etc. 

He my traitor, not my lover, 

As I'd thought him once to be. 
When he saw he'd crushed my sDirits, 

Spoke not soothingly to me; 
Still I love him, love him ever, 

Till my heart has ceased to beat. 
Then in»heaven Fll love and seek him,. 

For he's first 1 want to meet. 

CHORT^S TO LAST VERSE. 

I may meet with better offers. 
Which may be from better men. 

But I never, I can never, 
I can never love again. 



AFTIOIJ srxsKT. . 25 

i-:d\vard. 

LOVED thee, Edward, even when 

You caused uiy heart that burninp,- pain, 

And when 1 heard thy name abused 

With all the horrid language used 

By man, to man, or beast, 

1 loved thee still, yes loved thee more 

Than 1 had ever loved before. 

I loved thee, Edward, through it all. 
E'en while my heart you filled with gall 
When you, 3'our horrid words begun 
Beneath the gleams of yonder moon, 
That blushed such words to hear, 
And sighed to think that heart of mine 
Would cling to one so false as thine. 

But yet with all 1 love thee still, 
1 love thee yet, and always will; 
E'en though my love you did betray, 
I love thee yet, and will alway, 
For as the bark clings to the tree, 
So clings mv wounded heart to thee. 




CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 

^VlW/ '' ^^^ sailing o'er the rough waves of life, 
[/[i' And climbing its rugged slope. 

Though we sail not by African seas and shores, 
Yet we round the Cape of Good Hope. 

The cape that we round is the Savior's love 

Reaching to us far out in the river, 
And the hope that we pass, is the hope that we have 

To reach heaven to dwell forever. 



2(y 



AFTER SUNSET. 



ONLY TO BE A MARY. 

NLY' to be a Mary, 

To sit at the feet of my Lord, 
And hear the blessed teachings 

From Christ, the '"Liviiio- Word." 

Only to be a Mary, 

To entertain my Lord, 
And hear the words fall from the lips 

Of Christ, the Son of God. 

Only to be a Mary, 

To be honored by such a guest 
As the One who died on Calvary, 

To give all eternal rest. 

Only to be a Mary, 

To be met by the risen Lord, 
And hear my name so sweetly called 

Bv the crucified Son of God. 




TO MY FATHER'S MEMORY. 

LL were round his bed-side, crying. 

But I, a child of ten, 
Was watching my poor father die, 

But I didn't know it then. 
I saw his face was growing pale, 

And that he seemed to gasp, 
But never thought the gloom of death 

On that dear one was cast. 

I didn't know that it was death 

That caused his eyes to glare. 
Till I asked my mother, "Is he dead?" 

AVho still was weeping there. 
Slie answered, "Y'^es" — my heart then sank. 

My God! what had I done? 
I'd witnessed death without a tear — 

The death of that dear one. 



AFTER SUNSKT. 27 

]Mv cheeks were then no hiii<>:er dry, 

My heart seemed but to bi-eak, 
Since I had seen him sleep the sleep 

From which he never wake. 
And now I wish that sleep would soon 

His young-est child o'ertake, 
iVnd angels bear me to his arms, 

And let me there awake. 



THE DYING LOVER. 

9rS it growing dark, dear Nellie, 
%(^ Or am I only losing sight? 
*' O 'tis death, I know, I feel. it- 
Nellie, I must die to-night. 

Don't be grieved about me, Nellie; 

Smile, and think that I'll be free 
From the bonds of my affliction — 

Smile, sweet Nell, once more for me. 

For I'm sure I'd ne'er be happy, 

Elven in my home above, 
If, when I this world am leaving, 

Should a gloom see on m^^ love. 

Lay your arms around me, Nellie; 

Hold my fevered hands more tight. 
For my grasp is growing; weaker — 

Nellie, I must die to-night. 

We have been good friends, dear Nellie — 
Friends through all those weary years 

We have shared each other's soi'rows, 
And have dried each other's tears. 

But now a few more moments, darling, 
And I'll be far, far from you; 

But I'll look with longings, Nellie. 
Till you come to heaven, too. 



28 AFTKI{ STNSET 



ONLY FOR THIS. 

SONG. 

i^NLY to look in thy liandsoiiie eyes, 
Fairer to me than the azure skies; 
Dearer to me than a world of g'old ; 
Sweet to me as your pledge of old. 

CHORUS. 

Only for this, only for this, 

Only for this, darling, only for this; 
Only to look in thy handsome eyes — 
"Tis this only, darling, for which my heart sighs- 
Only for this, only for this. 

Only to look on thy handsome face, 

Which is charmed with only heaven's grace; 

Grief would then be unknown to me, 

My heart from its bondage would -then be free. 

Only to clasp thy hand in mine, 

And round thy neck ni}^ arms entwine, 

Just as I did in da3\s gone by — 

'Tis this only, darling, for which 1 sigh 

Only to clasp thy form again. 

To relieve my heart of its burning pain; 

To lean my head on thy breast so dear; 

' Twould calm each sorrow and dry each tear. 

Only to hear thy low, sweet voice, 
'Twould make my aching heart rejoice; 
From grief 'twoukl be a sweet retreat, 
Only to hear thy voice so sweet. 



AFTER suxsi-yr. 29 



i0 



JUSTICE AS PLAINTIFF. 

YOFTH who'd been taking of the wine eiij:» brig:ht, 
Was nionntinjihis horse, whenit jumped as with fright, 
Then on the ground in a mangled heep 

The rider lay in a drunken sleep ; 

In a sleey> from which he "d never wake, 

l''or ])v his falling his neck did break. 

Then Justice, who weighs with an equal scale. 

8ays I'll go to Judge Doright with this soriowful tale, 

And ask of him if King Alcohol 

And his neighbor, Li(]uors, one and all. 

Can be tried by the law foi- this fatal fall. 

The judge sat in his easy chair 

When enters Justice in despair 

At the horrid sight that his eyes had seen, 

The death of a youth who was just eighteen. 

He takes the chair that was offered to him. 
His sense of vision then growing dim, 
And in broken statements his story did tell. 
While his heart with anguish did seem to swell. 

The judge his law books laid aside. 
And gaz^nl on Justice with eyes open wide. 
It seemed to him that his reason had tied, 
As he looked o'er his glasses and slowly said: 

You hasten now to Squire Right 
And a warrant sw^ear out e'er comes the night, 
Then give the warrant to Constable True, 
For as I understand, he's a neighbor to you. 



30 AFTEIl SUNSET. 

And be sure that he gets the hquors, all, 

Especially the tyrant King Alcohol, 

Then to-morrow, at nine, the doors open will be. 

And we'll have them arranged before the Court, as j^ou'll see. 

Then Justice goes to Squii-e Right, 

And finds him in front of his fire so bright. 

The warrant procures, then hastens for True, 

When he greets him with here, I've a warrant for 3'OU. 

True takes the paper and knows his doom, 
Then hastens he to the gilded bar-room. 
Where he finds the associates of King Alcohol, 
And makes the arrest of each and all. 

Then when dawns the morning, Sheriff Love, 

With de|)uty Meek, wlio's as meek as a dove, 

Marched into Court the liquors all, 

Even the much despised King Alcohol ; 

Where lo, there lay that all night view. 

The boy who'd been murdered by this fiendish crew. 

Then one by one, at the Court's command, 
The defendants go on the witness stand : 
Hard Cider, the first, though dull his e3^e. 
Is placed on the stand to testify. 

And cried, I'm guilty! yes, guilty, I plead. 
For I opened the way to this horrid deed ; 
I taught him first to take a little. 
Then he, ah, soon began to tipple. 
And soon I could not quench the thirst, 
That burned within his boyish breast. 

Then Wine, wdio with a sparkling eye. 

Was called on next to testifj^, 

And said as he looked just o'er the Avay, 



AFTER SUNSET. 31 

Where the iiiang-led corpse of his victim lay: 

Poor boy, when first I saw thy face. 

Thy countenance wore a brig-hter grace. 

When first I, with my sparkling tint 

Enticed thee just to take a drink, 

0! different would thy fate have been, 

If you that glass had never seen. 

Then Beer said, must I look upon 

The face from which all life is gone, 

is it really so that I now behold 

The face of him in death so cold, 

Tl\at I enticed with my foaming cup, 

To drink that his spirits might brighten up? 

But if those cold hands had never pressed 

The glass, whose contents filled thy breast 

With grief, as well as those bereft 

For thee, it had been better far. 

If you 'd never tippled at the bar. 

They all plead guilty, save Alcohol, 

The guiltiest demon of them all, 

For when the Attornej^ said, please relate 

The story of him in this sad state, 

If you know how it happend, please tell us now, 

xVnd at this King Alcohol's head did bow, 

As he said, with camphor-gum he did me use, 

Thus I, this boy did ne'er abuse. 

For as medicine only he did use me. 

So let me from his death be free. 

Attorney Temperance then arose, 
His spectacles placed upon his nose. 
And looking round he plainly said, 
His eyes then fixed upon the dead— 
This case seems very clear to me , 
That Judge and Jury must agree. 



32 AFTER SUNSET. 

That this is murder in tlie first degree. 
You've heard the testimon^'^ all, 
And notice that of Alcohol, 
While othei's come and guilty plead, 
He tries to hide his bloody deed ; 
Kemember how his eyes grew dim 
AYheu you put the question unto him, 
Do you know aught of this young man? 
How vaguely did his eyes then scan : 
He scanned us each — yes, one and all — 
Thus did the ])urged Alcohol. 

Jntemperence rose then, blushed and said: 
Why parley thus about the dead? 
Remember those li(]uors have saved the lives 
Of many who've lived, and wlio still survive. 

He would have gone on and said much more. 

Rut was stopped by Temperance with — I have the floor! 

You want your toddy, 'tis plain to see, 

But. I'm proud to say, no toddy for me! 

Yes, I'm proud to say that I'll taste none, 

For the sooner it's banished the sooner crime will be done. 

The trial was ended, the verdict read; 

They were all found guilty, as some had plead, 

And when the 'morrow came, which was election day, 

The tem]ierance women turned out to pray ; 

And their fathers, husbands, lovers, and all, 

Voted against King Alcohol, 

And the news of the glorious victory flies 

O'er the town with a glad surprise. 

And the authoress, now, to all voters will say. 

That when comes again our election day, 

''Go ve and do likewise." 




AFTKIt SUNSET. 33 



THK STOLEN RETREAT. 

MAIDEN bowed with ft'rief, one day 
Stole secretly from home away. 
To thus relieve her weary heart, 
That gi-ief from her mi^ht then depart, 
Which g-rief was bitter-sweet. 

Her shin;(>;led head of jetted hair, 
Shone sweetly in the Autumn air, 
As o'er the fields she quickly ran, 
And in her haste she tried to plan 
A way to flee from bitter-sweet. 

She looked for orapes, and nuts of brown, 
And ran o'er hills both up and down, 
And thought, ah, cruel grief, thou art, 
That thou wilt not from me depart, < 
Thou cruel bitter-sweet. 

() cruel, cruel bitter-sweet. 

To tangle thus my weary feet, 

And feed upon my heart like rust, 

And crush it so I scai'ce can trust 

The Chi'ist, who once knew bitter-sweet. 

She found her trouble with her staid, 
And on her heart the burden swayed, 
Then asked the Christ, who once possessed 
This bitter-sweet within His breast, 
That He remove her bitter-sweet. 

Then childhood never seemed more sweet 
Than this, though stolen sweet retreat, 
When Christ made answer to her prayer. 
And took her bitter-sweet to bear, 
Yes, all her bitter-sweet. 



—3 



34 AFTEU sunsp:t. 

THE MOON'S STORY TO THE SUN. 

^jg^HE moon told the suii 
"^ pf Of a deed that was done, 
o Beneath her g^leamings one nio^ht. 
And the sun sig'hed and said, 
He was glad he was hid 
From the horrors of such a sight. 

Then the moon sighed and said, 

She must go, and she sped 

Quick as lightning across the blue skies, 

And the sun left alone, 

Then said with a groan, 

As sorrowfully^ he dried his eyes. 

I'm glad 'twas my lot 

That sight to see not. 

And so sweetly I was taking my rest, 

Till the moon told the tale 

With such a sad wale, 

That it planted a thorn in my breast. 



MY FAVORITE VINE. 

BITTER-SWEET. 

*®^HE vine is music unto me 
Vf And living voices seem to be 

\Mthin thy tendrils, bitter-sweet. 

O ! bitter-sweet, dear bitter-sweet, 
Y^ou know not how my pulses beat 
When 1 approach thee, bitter-sweet. 

I stand, and gaze thy beauty on 
Until it seems my sorrow 's gone, 
When near to thee, dear bitter-sweet. 



AFTEK SUNSET. 35 



A MAIDEN'S PRAYER. 



fATHER spare, O spare tlie man 
That caused tlicse tears of mine to flow, 
Adown the cheeks that once did wear 
A rose tint, now a paler hue, 
Caused by bitterness and woe. 

God, I well remember when, 
At one time on mj bended knees 

1 prayed, and 'twas for him; 

I prayed that Thou wouldst pass him bj^ 

And let me suffer in his stead; 

But this sad thought then came to me. 

That I, as helpless as I was, 

Would faint too soon beneath Thy;;blows, 

And then 'twould come his turn at last. 

But, Father, spare, spare the man 
That caused these tears of mine to^tiow, 
O, let him not in sorrow come 
Down to the grave for that rash>ct, 
Nor let his heart in anguish burn. 
As mine now burns for him. 

E'en though I know that Thou hast said 
"Vengeance is mine," but Father let, 
0, let not Thy wrath burn on him, 
Except him, for if Thou wouldst revenge 
That man, 'twould cause my heart'more pain. 

So, Father grant, O, grant my^prayer, 
A poor, poor broken hearted girl, 
Who humbly begs, as on my knees I fall, 
That Thou wilt pardon him. 
And let me suffer his revenue. 



3(; 



AFTER SUNSET. 




THE SOUL'S INQUIRY. 

HAT will my future be, 
A blest eternity, 

Or end in deep despair, 

Down where the sinners wend, 

To a hell which hath no end? 

may it not be there. 

What then will I do to be 
Saved through all eternity, 

And know my sins forgiven? 
I'll trust in Him who died for me, 
To cleanse me from iniquity, 

That I might go to heaven. 

Then what for others can I do? 
Only say Christ died for you, 

Believe and yours is peace: 
Peace from the Lamb above, 
Whose heart is only love. 

Which love will never cease. 

Then I'll be a missionary, 
Tell the heathens not to tarry 

From the throne above; 
I'll tell them where sweet waters flow 
Cleansing all from sin and woe. 

Who will seek His face. 



AFTKK SUNSET. 



pk; for dinner. 




I*0()R widow woman who was left with a child, 
And toiled early and late for her living-, 
•^ Could always find plenty, for others, to do, 
Rut little to her was their givino-. 

Thus early and late she toiled for her own, 

And every day seemed to grow thinner, 
And now the small pittance she had in her house 

Would not buy enough for their dinner. 

She fell on her knees and earnestly prayed : 

O God, I know I'm a sinner! 
But for the sake of my child send someting to eat, 

If it's only enough for our dinner. 

Just then an acquaintance chanced to be passing along, 

By trade the man was a tinner. 
And he said, come little girl and I'll give you some meat. 

See, here's a nice ham for your dinner. 

Then all of the neighbors who lived on the block 

Wished vengeance upon the poor tinner. 
Because of the oft repeated cries of the child : 

We're going to have pig for dinner. 

Her mother theu whipped her, and told her to hush. 

And said if she did'nt she skin her, 
But the harder she whipped her, the louder she squalled: 

We're going to have pia* for dinner. 

'Tis now ten long years since the narrative told, 
Took place between the child and the tinner, 

And rumor now has it, they'll marry this fall, 
And I guess they'll have pig for dinner. 



88 



AFTER SUNSET. 




MY OWN DEAR NELL. 

^OWN b3^ the river, Nell, 
Is where I love to dwell, 
If there I am with thee; 
There's where I mean to live. 
If thou thy heart will give 
To me, dear Nell. 

Down by the rocky wall, 
Where stands the poplars tall, 
Is where I saw thee first; 
There's where I mean to live, 
If thou thy heart will give 
To me, dear Nell. 

Down by the shad 3^ brook, 

Where winds with many a crook, 

Yon silver stream ; 

There's where my heart is free, 

If there I am with thee, 

My own dear Nell 

There I will make for thee 
A home most handsomely. 
Wreathed with vines and buds; 
And o'er the entrance there, 
I' 11 wreath with garlands fair 
These words, for my dear Nell. 



AFTER sunsi<:t. 39 



THE HALF EATEN MEAL. 



t '6)7^ WAS very liti 
^ M^ Yes, scarcely 
^S-" While I iiot"i( 



WAS very little supper that Miss ate, 

ly a thing would she take on her plate, 
iced her nervous at ever3' sound, 
And I thoua'ht Mr. must be coniinff around. 



Yes, I remember he was, for he'd given me a note. 
And the love that was in it I neaver can quote. 
For I thought when he gave it, 'twas heavj^ to hold, 
While to me did the writer seem terribly bold. 

For before all his girls he gave it to me. 

His countenance then beaming, his heart full of glee. 

And bowing so manly, "give this to " he said. 

While I bowed, as in answer, then from him I tied. 

We went to the office and sat with her awhile. 
When I said: "I've a note," which created a smile, 
Or rather did broaden the smile on her face, 
While smile after smile, did each other then chase. 

Then we were showed through the foundry, I bearingthe note, 
A burden of love that I never can quote. 
When on passing the scales, we then were all weighed, 
Miss the first, then with me the scales swayed. 

She then of my weight did jokingly boast. 
When with bearing the note of course I'd weigh most, 
But to come back to my subject, the half eaten meal. 
Poor Miss I know she did terribly feel. 

But at last on the porch a step that she knew, 
When then to the door she hastily flew; 

"Good evening, Miss " the visitor said, 

"Good evening, Mr. " she said, as she led 

Her caller to where the most easy chair sat, 

Then quietly taking his coat and his hat, 

Then I was called in and the hero did scan — 

My subjects, did you ask? 'Twas a girl and a man. 




40 ABn^b:U SUNSET. 



BELVIE, HER OWN AVENGER. 

Ifjf, HOA! and the Colonel alio;hts from his seat, 
f^l^ While Belvie hastens her lover to greet, 

When her waist is encircled in the strong- arms of 
him 
Who has come to beg off with a fanciful whim. 

He said, as he drew her form to him again. 
Dear Belvie, to wed thee to-day is in vain, 
For jour lover must yet face the enemy's gun, 
Which battle takes place ere sets yonder sun. 

The enemy's division have increased so their rank, 
That our brigade from its batteries shrank. 
When, on leaving the field the brave Gen. Land, 
Was shot through the head, and I placed in command. 

Then I saddled my war horse, and spurred, e'en though he 

fiew. 
That I the sad news might break gently to you; 
To talk of our union to-day is in vain. 
So you'll have to await my coming again. 

I'm sorry, ah, yes! 'tis sorrow you see 
To leave one so dear, O why should this be; 
But kiss me my darling, bid your lover adieu, 
I'll come, yes again love, and then I'll wed you; 
I'll wed thee the next time, let what like intervene,. 
I'll wed thee, and deem thee my own little queen. 

The beautiful girl who now stands by his side, 
Arrayed in her beaut^'', bedecked as a bride. 
Is leaning upon him with a sad look of pain. 
While the tears from her lashes are falling like rain. 

0, Colonel At wood, that story is old, 

I've heard it before, yes, twice it 's been told ; 

And you said that at this time indeed you'd be true> 

And now you are wanting to bid me adieu. 



AFTKIJ SUNSET. 41 

O, treacherous man who lias prov^eu untrue, 

To the heart that has ever beat warmly for you, 

To the heart that did trust thee, e'en against the dear will 

Of her who now sleeps in death's silence so still. 

Now Belvie, my dearest, I came, for I knew 
That did I not come I would sorrow for you ; 
For well I remember how pained you looked when 
1 told you my counti'y had need of me tiien. 

It has need of me still, my story 's the same, 

To resij2;ii my commission to me would be shame, 

And to wed a fair bride and leave her behind, 

Is more than Colonel Atwood in his heart can now find. 

Then she reached, as he tiioui^ht, his form to embrace, 
When his g'littering^ sword she drew from its place 
And cried in wild anguish, I'll get even with thee; 
I'll avenge now myself, though too late it may be, 
But to disgrace should I come, I've now learned by you 
That man and his promise will never prove true. 

He looked on the girl as defiant she stood 
Like a tigress longing to prey on his blood, 
Like a miserly Monarch who battled his hoard, 
Now stand by your promise or die by the sword. 

Ah me, pretty maid remember my vow, 
I've promised to marry, but cannot just now. 
You've promised, ah yes! but your promise was vain, 
For you've broken your promise thrice over again. 

But remember, my dear, I'm a military man. 
And must hasten to battle as fast as I can. 
So here is my sheath, replace now my sword, 
Lest on entering the battle your lover be gored. 

Yet dauntless she stood in defiance of him, 
Her face wearing the aspect of death's vision so grim. 
There's a battle for you that's much nearer at hand, 
For you'll die by your sword in your own native land. 



42 AFTER SUNSET. 

So sayiDg. she thrust the liiioht sword like a dart, 
While its gliterino; point found access to his heart; 
And strove as though wishing to drive to its hilt, 
While the blood of her victim at her feet was now spilt. 

She fell on her knees, and in his red gore 
She wrote with her finger her name o'er and o'er. 
Her last message to him in his blood wrote she, too. 
Your name and your promise now perish with you. 



LITTLE EDNA. 

^^. LITTER, clatter, heai- the patter 

Of the tiny little feet, 
Mamma darling, hear the calling 

Of your little girl so sweet; 
She is coming, sweetly humming, 

As a little honey bee, 
Sweetest flower of the bower. 

Mamma kiss her once for me. 

But, ni}^ Edna, mamma, said she 

Was sometimes like naughty birds, 
For she'd chat and spat at mamma, 

Saying awful naughty words — 
But said one day that she'd obey 

Whatever mamma said. 
If she was dressed up in her best. 

And then was called Miss p]d. 

So soon the queen in silk was seen, 

And loaded down with roses, 
But when ma called, she only squalled. 

And answered : 0, dear Moses ! 
She was only six, but then she'd fix 

As fine as wealth could make her. 
And always said she'd never wed 

Till a chance would overtake her. 



.<>^r^ 




APTE1{ SUXSKT. 4^^ 



THE TTx\GRATP:FITI: DAUGHTPm. 

N aged man sat by the bed 

Where lay his sleepiiip," wife, 
Who, with a paralytic stroke 

Was an invalid for life. 

The ao-ed husband sat readinp,- there 
When his dauo-hter hastened in. 

With two small bundles in kerchiefs tied 
And thus she did be<>in : 

Ijook here, old man, John said for nie, 

Well 1 almost hate to say, 
But I do think when folks i^et old 

They're really in the way. 

So you can just now wake her up. 

And here's your duds, you see, 
And hurry, lest the cart should come 

And for you waiting be. 

I wrote a note to old Judge Brown, 
You know he 's the poormaster, too. 

And in reply he said he would 
Make room for both of you. 

The father wept and sobbed aloud, 

I can't tell wife this blow, 
When comes the haughty son-in-law 

With, now hurry you and go. 

The father, who was stooped with years 
And from failing strength was weak. 

Bent o'er the one he loved so well 
Not daring then to speak. 



44 AFTER SUNSET. 

At last he said, dear wife, I have 

A message which 1 know 
Will crush thy heart, but they have said. 

Dear wife, that we must ^o. 

He stopped, his heart was then too full 

An utterance to make, 
Then took her withered hand and said 

When I this hand did take, 
I never dreamed that thy dear heart 

In poverty should break. 

And never dreamed the poor-house doors 

For us would open wide, 
When I took upon myself the vows 

To protect my charming bride. 

You know, dear wife, when I was young 
And strong, I toiled, and then 

Those dear old hands which once were young 
Did aid me, until when 

The hand of fate, O! cruel fate 
Which seemed against thee then, 

Benumbed the form so dear to me 
And then 0! bitter agony. 

For when the doctor said thou hadst 

A paralytic stroke. 
When from his lif s those words did fall 

I thought my heart had broke. 

Then wife, you know vou lay so long 

Ere you could speak to me, 
To soothe the heart on which there swayed 

A load of bitter agon v. 



AFTER SUNSET. 45 

And when the doctor said we must 

Jie quick the bill to pny, 
We had to mortgage home so dear 

And fatal was the day. 

For the payments, wife, we could not meet 

So we wandered here and there, 
Till our daughter married a man of wealth 

And allowed us her home to share. 

But now, for reasons which I know not, 

She has turned against her own. 
For spake she so irrevently 

Of her parents so forlorn. 

Then I pondered o'er our toil for her 

Ere she 'd woti her haughty lord, 
And had she called me father, then 

Her words had seemed less hard. 

And had she honored you, my dear, 

By saying mother, then 
This old giay head and broken heart, 

Of three score years and ten. 
Would not have felt so sensitive, 

The words that crushed them then. 

I thought if 3' oil could only stay 

For thee 'twould better be. 
Than have thy dear, though aged form. 

To follow after me. 

Then he helped her down the mai'ble st«ps 

And set her in the cart. 
And bravely tiied to face the storm, 

Though faint, his ])Oor old heart. 



46 AFTER SUNSET. 

He kissed her and then turned his head 

To hide his face, for he 
No longer could suppress the grief 

From which he wept so bitterly. 

The aged mother, bent with years 

And feebled with disease, 
Broke down in violent sobbings 

When her husband's tears she sees. 

Then waved her hand and said farewell 
To whom 1 've given birth, 

Then clasped her husband's hand and said 
Farewell dear one on earth. 

The undertaker now takes charge, 

The old man lingers near, 
And though she Alls a pauper's grave 

To him the grave is dear. 

The funeral o'er he then does go 

Where all the poor are fed, 
And as he scans the gloomy walls 

He cries, thank God, she's dead! 

And ne'er did know this wretchedness, 
And ne'er those walls did see. 

When this he said he gasped for breath 
For his breathing came not free, 

! bury me beside m3'' wife, 
He said with his last breath, 

For the storms of life could ne'er us part 
So part us not in death. 



APTEIi SUNSET. 47 



MY FANCY. 



TO MY MOTHER S MKMORY. 



^^ OMETIMES when I'm loiielj sittino- 
^^ I fancy at heaven's g'ate, 
^^'^ A form bendiuo- over the railing 
Is beck'nino- me not to wait; 
Not to wait for my redem))tion 

Till the harvest ends in death, 
When the chords of life are severed 
And the victim gasps for breath. 

And if there be tears in heaven 

She is weeping at my delay, 
For I hear her sweet voice calling 

Daughter, come, O! come this way; 
Then methinks I see her standing 

Pointing at the bleeding hands. 
That were pierced on Calvary's Mountain 

And for my redemption stands. 

Mother! gone from eai-th forever, 
Here thy face no more I'll see, 

But by the grace of Christ oiir Savior 
' Mother, dear, I'll come to thee; 

For thy precious name I cherish 
Though my heart to grief is driven, 

I fancy I'll name it last on earth 
And call it first in heaven. 



48 • AFTEU SUNSET. 



NONE BUT AN AMERICAN BORN. 

L'LL sinjz; the sonp; to-nio;ht dear, 
I That so often I have sung, 
- 'Tis this, no man can win my heart 
Who speaks a foreign tongue. 

Let him be a Ruler, King or Count, 

It matters not if he 
Speaks any foreign tongue, be sure 

He'll tarry not with me. 

I would not if he woi-e a crown, 

And sat upon a throne; 
I would not wed a foreigner, 

If I had to live alone. 

I'd rather live an old, old maid, 

A state I deem forlorn, ^ 

Than wed a millionaire if he 
Were not an American born. 

Some girls might marry just for wealth, 

Which I deem very wrong, 
But I will plainly say, for me 

None but an American born. 



AFTER SUNSET. 49 

THE FIRST WATERFALL. 

^HE first waterfall on earth ever known 
'^P'" ^^ ^^'"^ ^^^^ Savior's love from the heavenly throne. 
o The Savior loved the Father first 
And only Him, until there wast 
A war beoun between mankind 
And Satan, who'd his armies lined 
Along the human shores. 

The Savior looked down from His Father's throne 
And saw that man stood all alone, 
Without a sino-le weapon to 
Annihilate the fiendish crew, 
Who soug'ht to destroy his soul. 

And His love then reached from His Father on Ingh 

Dow'n to mankind who was doomed to die, 

Before such an angry host, 

And in reaching down from His Father's throne, 

To the poor doomed creatures who stood alone. 

It flowed so plentifully and free to all 

That truly on earth 'twas the first waterfall. 

The first waterfall on earth ever known 

Was made by the Savior who left His throne. 

And came down on earth to die on the cross 

That we, through His death, might suffer no loss. 

And when on Him our sins were laid. 

And on Him only the burden swayed. 

It broke the heart of the Savior divine, 

But linked with love your heart and mine. 

With His on the golden shore above. 

And His broken heart reached far and wide 
To encircle the ones for whom He'd died. 
And reached from earth to heaven above, 
From whence had come this river of love. 
That flow'ed with such a peaceful tide 
From the wounded body of the Crucified. 
—4 



=50 APn^ER SUNSET. 



MOTHKR. 

(^jp) OTHER, as I stand by thy grave to-night, 
'#1 if Gazing above at the star s silv'ry light, 
Qjl/J^ 'pj^g lining" of heaven, 'twixt you and me, 
Hiding the face that I fain would see. 

Mother, O why was I born to weep, 
Why did this storm o'er my young life sweep. 
Why did its bursting all fall upon me, 
Leaving me ever unhappy to be? 

Mother, dear mother, do 1 call in vain 

For one kind word from thy lips again. 

For one faint murmur of a mother's prayer 

To soothe this heart that is burdened with care! 

Mother, dear mother, my heart is so sad. 
Speak, darling mother, that thy child may be glad, 
For I have known naught, but to sorrow and weep. 
Ever since 'neath the sod you've been lying asleep. 



AFTER HIS COMING. 

/i^^FTER His coming, no sorrow I'll see, 

After His coming, fi*om such I'll be free, 
After His coming, this burden I'll lay 
At the foot of the cross 'till the great judgment day. 

After His coming, 0, the glorious sight. 

After His coming, 0, rapturous delight, 

After His coming, no more grief and pain. 

Then no more down my cheeks will my tears flow like rain. 

After His coming, O, would that we all, 
After His coming, be waiting His call. 
After His coming, God gi-ant that we may 
Be ready to meet Him on that glorious day. 



A1<TKK SUNSET. 51 

D. W. FOUNTAIN. 

IN MEMORY OF THE LATE D. AV. FOUNTAIN, OF DUt^UOIN, ILL. 






E has passed the shiiiiiii;' poi-tals, 

Entered throui2,-h the <2,ates of gold, 
'l, Where metliiiiks the dear departed, 
Stops his Savior to behokl. 

As He stands with liands n])lifted 

Pierced and flesh torn as they are, 

While He greets the heaven-bound traveler 
With, enter ye, the gate 's ajar. 

Pity we the friends who gather 
Round to take a last farewell, 

None bub those who like have suffered 
Can their bitter anguish tell. 

None but they know of the sorrow, 

Which in clouds do o'er them sweep, 

When the lid is closed forever 

Where D. W. Fountain lies asleep. 

When the last fond look is taken, 
His dear corpse is borne away, 

To the grave where 'neath its soddings 
He will wait the Judgment Day. 

Round his grave-side tread ye lightly, 
Lightly tread 'tis sacred ground, 

For lies here a darling husband. 

Son and brother 'neath this mound. 



REFERRING TO THE ABOVE. 

^ ()W the author, though a stranger, 
Though a. stranger, yet a friend, 
I To those fiiends who mourn in sorrow 
She her sympathy would lend. 

For she, too, has sipped of sorrow, 
Passed its dregs, her lips between, 

Bitter dregs which naught could sweeten, 
Save our Lord, and for Him gleam. 



O'J 



AFTKR SUNSET. 




A PRESENT. 

(AN AUTOGRAPH ALBUM.) ADDRESSED TO MY SISTER PHEBE. 

BOOK for thee, in which to write 

The name of every fiiend. 
And in the list may mine be fonnd 

E'en though it forms the end. 

For judging, from experience, 

I think the ones loved best, 
Would head the column of the list 

And following be the rest. 

And sister, this I fondly ask, 
That you this book will cherish evei', 

And that thy heart may ever burn 
With tender love for Jess, the giver. 



THE GEOGRAPHICAL RIVER LIFE. 

("(SW HERE'S a river that washes the human shores, 
A river both deep and wide; 
It carries the acts of the world to God. 
And what are the acts of our lives on its tide? 

It takes its rise at our infant steps 

And flows in the direction above, 
And empties into the sea of God, 

At the foot of the mountain of love. 

It exports our actions to the port of God, 
Whether they be right or wrong; 
It carries them all, no matter what kind, 

And what acts of our lives does it bear alon"? 



AKTKK SINSET. 

THE UNFORTUNATE BORN. 

%^E was faithless to me, so I swore 
']\M( The child which a year ago I bore 
'^■^'^'' To him, whom 1 had loved so long, 
Ne'er thinking that he' do me wrong. 

r swore, yes, in my heart I said 

I'd make for his a watery bed, 

The child which he would not maintain 

Should never cross his path again. 

1 stood upon the river's bank 
And from the horrid deed I shrank, 
Then gazed upon him as he lay 
So peaceful in my arms that day. 

Rat evil did me tempt again, 
I closed my eyes against the sin, 
When in the waters, leaping wild, 
I threw, O God! my sleeping child. 

Who W'Oke with such a sudden start, 
And cried, as with a broken heart, 
Then raised his hands, a struggle made, 
And cried, O tetch me. Us so faid. 

His cries did pierce my heart within, 

T felt and knew my awful sin, 

I grasped, but grasping was in vain ; 

Then how my heart was racked with pain, 

And worlds, had I possessed them then, 

Ud have given to have him back again. 

I watched the waters play in glee 
O'er the form of one so dear to me, 
And thought, O God, could I recall 
The moment ere I let him fall. 
Could I his face but see again 
To satisfy my burning \m\n\ 



53 



54 aftp:h sunset. 

I watched the waves as they seemed to be 
Siuo'ing' a song of i>-nef to me, 
Then sighed and said, do I wateli in vain, 
When I caught a glimpse of my child again. 

His darling- head rose on the wave 
And then a stffling sob he gave. 
When once again the head of gokl 
Was covered "'neath the waters cold. 
And as the waves ran swiftly by 
I thought again I heaid him cry. 

I knelt, and for God's pardon pled, 
Pardon to me for the murdered dead. 
Then left the scene in anguish wild. 
The murderess of mv infant child. 



OX THAT NIGHT IN JUNE. 

I^NE night when the roses were blushing in June, 
if. And the dew drops had moistened their sealed up buds, 
^ There sat on a log, a lover, not two, 
For the other was a traitor with a heai-t untrue. 
To the girl he sat by, on that night in June. 

On that beautiful night when the roses had drooped, 
And the dew di-ops had moistened their sealed up buds, 
It was then at that time, that the moon beams shone 
Upon a couple that were sitting alone. 
Together on a k)g, on that night in June. 

On that beautiful night when the roses were bathed 
With the silv'ry dew drops which glistened on them, 
It was then at that time that the traitor began, 
Down in his dark secret bosom to plan 
A way to betray, on that night in June. 

On that beautiful night when the roses had blushed, 

'Neath the silv'ry dew drops which glistened on them, 

It was then at that time he sought out his plan, 

And betrayed the girl e'en while her cries ran 

Through his ears as he betrayed her. on that night in June. 



AFTEU SUNSKT. 55 

THK T)arki^:y ix)vi:u. 

SONG. 

// (j^H ! my deah you'll lub me yet, 
JliSp ^ou may stop yo' snarliuo-, 
Fo' within a few mo' years 
You will call UK' dni-lino;; 
For remember de iiiaxini ole aud true, 
"It's a mighty long lane what has no turn," 
And soon you'll see, dat you'll lub me 
And den my lub will be far from dee. 

Ah! 'tis just a year dat now has passed 

Since my lub you did refuse. 
And now you say dat I'm dee man 

Ob all de world you choose. 
But remember de maxim ole and true 
"It's a might}' long lane what has no turn,'' 
Once I lubed dee and j^ou spurned me, 
And now you lub and I spurn dee. 

You say you're sorry, but I am not 

'Case I lub another, 
I lub her better dan I do mysef, 

Yes, better dan my mudder. 
So remember de maxim ole and true 
"It's a mighty long lane what has no turn," 
For now you see that I am free 
From de petty lub dat I had fo dee. 

I'll gib you advice, though you ask it not. 

Which may prove a blessing to dee, 
When a fellow makes lub to you again 

Don't snarl like you did at me, 
But remember de maxim ole and true, 
"It's a mighty long lane what has no turn." 
So don't you scowls and at him growl, 
And hoot at him like an ole niffht owl. 



56 AFTEK 8UNSET. 

ANOTHER RIVER TO CROSS. 

tNOTHER river we have to cross, 
A river both deep and wide, 
* A river where iDany souls have been. 
Lost on its surg-ing tide. 
They looked not to the boatman, 

They spurned His djnng love, 
They're perishing- now, but they might have gone 
To the "Great White Throne" above. 

Another river to cross, another river to cross, 
We'll look at the Lamb, then His bleeding palm 
When we come to the river to cross. 

Another river we have to cross. 

To its banks we're drawing near, 
A body of souls are marching to it 

And perhaps we're be^'ond the rear, 
But we need not fear to cross it. 

We can i-est on its troubled wave. 
If we only look to the boatman 

Who is ever ready to save. 

Another river to cross, another river to cross, 
We'll kneel at the cross and suffer no loss 
When we come to the river to cross. 

Another river we have to cross 
Which will end our every strife, 

The river of death we first pass thi-ough 
And then comes the river of life. 

We'll have no fear when we reach its tide, 
Our souls will then be at rest. 

Our cares being ended how sweet it will be- 
To be clasped to the Savior's breast. 

Another river to cross, another river to cross. 
We'll bridge it with love for the Savior above 
When we come to the river to cross. 



AFTKI? SUNSET. Di 

YK SOFT SlGHIN(i WINDS. 

SONG. 

J/^^ YE soft sig-hiiig- winds, bear this message far away 
vl^J/ '^^ ^^^ place in Pennsylvania, where my idol doth 

^' stay, 
Tell him that although he wronged me, yet niy love is still 

aflame, 
And for him "twill ever, ever be the same. 



O, ye soft sighing winds, bear this message far away. 
To the place in Pennsylvania where my idol doth stay, 
To the place in Pennsylvania where my idol doth stay, 
O, ye soft sighing winds bear it there. 

Just the same as on the evening when he stole my heart 

away, 
When he took me by the arm, at the closing of the day, 
And we w'alked alone together, while the twilight faintly 

shone 
On our paths while we were walking all alone. 

O, the jo3's that filled my bosom, as 1 w^alked beside hin» 

then, 
'Neath the silv'ry gleamings of the distant moon: 
Yes my heart was filled with gladness, O, so full I never 

dreamed, 
Of the grief which in my bosom would be soon. 

But at last he did persuade me, just to sit a moment 

down 
On a clum]) of logs and bushes which were scattered on the 

ground, 
And I sat me down beside him never thinking danger nigh, 
Never thinking that I'd rue it till I'd die. 



AFTEK SUNSET. 



THE ANIVERSARY OF A MAIDENS (JRIEF 



i 6)Tg^ IS just a 3'eai- ago, Edward. 
^ If Just a year ac^o to-nig-lit. 
s-'"^ Since you and I Avere walking 

'Neath the silv'ry moon beams bright, 
And the paths in which we entered, 

fceemed to me still brighter far 
Than the moon in all her glory. 
Or the brighest evening star. 

For I, too, was in my glory, 

And my life seemed l)rlght because 
Of the \vords which then you uttered, 

Words of love, O, Edward Gause; 
Can it be that you were treacherous, 

Treacherous with the heart that loved, 
With a love which naught could sever 

Or from you could e'er be moved. 

You may spurn me, yet "twill linger 

Cleave as to its God above, 
And I'll be as was the patriot, 

"Though you slay me" yet I'll love; 
You have wronged me, Edward, wronged me, 

But of such you've been forgiven, 
By the one who'll truly love you 

Last on earth and first in heaven. 

Just a year ago, ah ! Edward, 

Does it seem so long to you? 
Since those woi'ds of love were spoken 

Which has since proved so untrue: 
I have grown older, Edward, 

Older than 1 was last year. 
When my happiness you ruined 

Making all mv life so drear. 



AFTER Sl'NSET. 

That I scarcely care not whether 

Life or deatli the struo-o-le wins; 
For to me my life is nothing, 

Since yonr married life begins 
Witli another; ah! not Vesta, 

She who loved you even when 
You'd have robbed her of her virtue, 

Leaving in its stead a stain. 

None could drive the fevered anguish 
From my aching heart and brow. 

When T heard that you were married- 
God! my idol married now? 

Was it true, or only told me 
Just to make my bosom quake? 

Ah! too true, and such desertion 
Caused my very heart to break. 

Oft they tell me to dismiss you— 

Spurn the vei-y thoughts of you ; 
But, O, Edward; 1 can never 

Prove myself to you untrue. 
You may spurn, but I can never, 

You may scorn, but in its stead 
I will love, thee, Edward, love thee, 

'Till I'm numbered with the dead. 

And when with the dead I'm numbered, 

When my body's turned to clay 
And my soul to God has risen, 

There to wait the Judgment Day ; 
Still, e'en then, I'll not forget you, 

At the portals there I'll wait 
Till I see you, Edward, coming, 

Coming to the golden gate. 



59 



60 AFTKi{ suNSpyr. 

Then Til run to meet you, Edward, 

Lean my head upon your breast, 
Where twelve months a««-o I leaned it, 

Hopino; that I mioht find rest; 
For, methinks, the joj-^s of Heaven 

Incomj)lete would be without 
Thy dear presence, Edward, darlinp:, 

And thy handsome form about. 

(), how sad you've made me, Edward, 

By pro vino- false, instead of true; 
But remember, "as you measure, 

It shall be measured unto you," 
And, "in your own coin," God will i)ay you. 

For that very wron^ you'll weep. 
For the Bible plainly tells us— 

"As you sow, so shall you reap." 



A MAIDEN'S SORROW. 

(B^'^^ATHER and mother, as I kneel at youi* heads, 
"^ And stretch my arms o'er your lowly beds. 
Listen, dear ))arents, while my story, I tell 
Of one that I loved, 1 loved so well. 

But the man that I loved ])roved a traitor to be, 
Yes, a traitor, dear parents, a traitor to me; 
For he was cruel, so cruel to thy youngest one, 
[.(eavino; her weepinji,' for the treachery done. 

Mothei', dear mother, you're a woman, I know. 
As is thy poor daughter, who is weeping below. 
But, with no disrespect to thee. I must say 
That woman is mv bitterest enemy to-dav. 



AFTKR SUNSET. 61 

"Tis (rue tli;i1 "twMs man who fii-st ])lan1o(l the thorn, 
But wouKin its roots soon linricd them down 
80 dee[) in my heart that tlio wound tlioy have riven 
Knoweth no balm on tliis side of lieaven. 

0! father, if t)idy 'twere ])ossible for tliee 

To know how ernel he was unto me; 

If 'twere possible for thee to a<>:ain live on earth, 

'Twer(^ better by far that he'd died at liis l)irth, 

Tlian to meet with the one in whom venueanee would be, 
Whose veno-eance would wreak on his victim for me. 
Whose heart's blood would curdle e'en at the si^ht 
Of him who had cast o'er my young- life a blight. 

But father and mothei-, this man yet 1 love, 
lO'en though he was cruel ; do you hear from above? 
I'll speak to thee louder, then please answer me, 
That my heart fi-om its anguish may know itself free. 

Ah! methinks that I hear thee, thous:!! the murmur is low. 

Is it thee, darling mother? if it is, then I'll go. 

But a moment, dear mother, for thy child is in tears; 

She is bitterly weeping, though few^ are her years; 

But, mother, please answei- this question for me. 

Will my tears always flow, oi* will his heart turn to nie? 

<), mother! will I always be sad as to-day, 

Will these gathering clouds alwa.ys darken my way, 

And these storm-clouds of sorrow now bursting o'erhead, 

Will they never be calmed, not at all till I'm dead? 

I'^or at times when I gi-ieve o'er this lost love of miM«\ 
I've a feeling of gladness, e'en though I repine. 
And it seems to me then, that the Saviour who died, 
(ii\('s pi'omise, my love shall be yet satisfied. 



62 AFTER SUNSET. 



OUR MORTGAGED HOME. 

ADDRESSED TO SISTER PHEBE. 

\, UR home lias been mortgaged, 0! sister, dear 



AiJJ/-' The final foreclosure was made this j-ear; 
^^^ The home where we've played in onr childish glee 
Has this year been taken from you and me. 

The orchard, the nieadow, where so oft we have played. 
Gathering wild flowers, then would rest 'neath the shade 
Of the trees which our parents had planted with care. 
Ne'er thinking that strangers their fruits would e'er share. 

I think of those plays with a sickened brain, 
To think they are gone, that never again 
We can visit those lov'd places with as little care 
As we did when we played in our chidhood there. 

To-night I am thinking of the meadows so green, 
Where so oft as young shepherdesses we have been seen 
Herding the sheep which our father did own 
Before to the grave his body was borne. 

0! those past days of herding, my heart would reclaim, 
When we knew each sheep, and called each by name. 
"Tiger Mulvin" was one, "James Buchanan" was two; 
I must smile at their names through my tears thick as dew. 
But most of their names, hke our childhood fun, 
Have vanished forever, ne'er to leturn. 

You know father's grave marks a spot near by 
To the dear old meadow, where so oft you and T 
Have stripped the red-top of its precious grain, 
Then carelessly sowing the seed again. 



afti-:k sunsiot. (Hi 

And now, just beside hiui does our dear niother lay, 
There to sleep 'neatli the sod till that blest coming- day. 
The Judgment Day, Phebe, when we'll sorrow no more, 
But be with our loved ones on that peaceful shore. 

I feel like going to the graves where they rest, 
And telling to them of this grief in my breast. 
Methinks could I place my lips near their own, 
And whispei" my story, my grief would be gone. 
For I think there would come from a distant shore 
The echo of voices, saying, weep no more. 

But now, sister Phebe, I bitterly weep 
When such storm-clouds of sorrow do o'er us sweej), 
To think that of home once so dear we're bereft. 
Then what is the wonder tha: grief fills my breast? 

For this home, darling sister, is ours no more; 

We must seek for another, though through a strange door. 

While sti'angers will live in this home once our own, 

But where now we must be like the birds who have flown. 

For you know wdien the nest is torn up that they fly 
From the home taken from them, as must you and I; 
For the nest, as it were, from us ha,s been torn, 
Leaving us homeless, yes, sadly forlorn. 

Though strangers hp^ve robbed us of our home once so dear, 
Let our heartsnot be crushed, though we shed many a tear: 
For thanks be to God, we've a home in Heaven, 
Where strangers can't take, nor morto-aaes be g-iven. 



<)4 AFTER SUNSKT. 

WINE DID IT ALL. 

I^N a quaint, but hnudsome cottage, 
I Sat a lady old and frail, 
- Heeding not the church bell's Hngino-, 
As it told its dreadful tale. 

Ah! that old heart nevei' dreamino- 
That it tolled the funeral knell 

Of her son, whom she expected, 
Home that day with her to dwell. 

Dwell with her while life would last her; 

This he said when last he wrote, 
And with joy she read his letter, 

And his words she oft did quote. 

Sat she dreamily in her fancy, 
Thinking Edward will be soon 

Home from college to stay with mother, 
Yes, my son will come at noon. 

Then that dear old Mother Faunson, 
Rose, a dinner to prepare. 

For her darling who was coming, 
When she hears a noise near there. 

And she listens ! O, it's only 
Some one knocking at the dooi'. 

First I thought it was my Edward, 
But he wouldn't knock, I'm sure. 

Then she starts, the door she opens ; 

Come in, sonny, have a chair; 
I was working in the kitchen, 

When 1 heard you knocking, dear. 

On she talked with mother prattle, 
Seeing not within the hand 

Of the boy, a small envelope. 
Till he Invs it on the stand. 



AFTEIJ SrXSET. 65 

With, Here's a message for you, madam; 

Saying-, as his head bent low, 
It's a telegram. I reckon, 

'Cause they said I'd better go 

Just as quick as I could make it, 
That the news came with the dawn, 

But the operator, madam. 
Had forgotten it this morn. 

He was called into the country', 

To the bed of a sick friend, 
And 'twas this that caused him, madam, 

To forget the news to send. 

Then she grasps the sealed envelope. 

Opens. O, this can't be true! 
Edward Faunson died this morning, 

Funeral services at two. 

Then she hastens to the chapel. 

Where within its rustic walls. 
Lays the corpse of Edward Faunson, 

And beside the dead she falls. 

And the Chaplain, who was weeping, 
Weeping, though so brave and tall, 

Knelt him down beside the mourner. 
While he said, wine did it all. 

Then that horror-stricken mother 
Shrieked as though her heart would break. 

Shrieked as though she wished the sleeper 
From his slumber to awake. 

And she said, while tears of anguish 
Trickled down her tear-stained face, 

Which was traced with many a wrinkle, 
Yet in it was beautv's errace: 



66 AFTER SUNSET. 

0, my God! my son! my Edward! 

Curse the rum that caused this blow 
On the heart of thy ao;ed mother ! 

Who to her grave in grief must go. 

O, this bokl and cursed demon ! 

Killed my brothers every one, 
And my father, then my husband, 

And at last my only son. 

0, my heart was filled with sorrow 
When I saw those loved ones fall. 

By the hand of this vile poison, 
But this 's the saddest death uf all. 

I had looked with pride upon me, 
Thinking that you'd be my stay, 

Through my few remaining moments, 
And would aside my burdens lay. 

Though I know thy form's like marble, 
And like ice those lips of thine, 

Yet I fain would clasp thee, Edward, 
To this feeble breast of mine. 

It was 1 who caused thy sorrow, 
I who gave the cup of rum, 

To thy son, who first refused it. 
But I tauntingly said come, 

Drink with me, and to my pleasure. 

Edward Faunson took the glass — 
Drank, then faintly murmured, ruined ; 

I'm a ruined man at last. 

For I've tasted this bold demon. 
This, the cursed fiend of hell. 

That has caused my dear old mother 
Sorrow that no tongue can tell. 



A FT 10 If SUXSKT. 67 

Human heart cannot imao-ine, 

And no tongue can tell the tale. 
Of the o-rief which she has suffered, 

Caused by this unfriendly ale. 

But I humbly beg' your pardon. 

For I never thought of him 
Being injured by the li(|uor, 

'Till I saw his eyes grow dim ; 

And his face so pale and ghastly, 

That it made my poor heart sink, 
When he told me at his bedside, 

I am dying from that drink. 

The speaker was a fair young lady, 

Promised bride of him who lay 
Sleeping in the rosewood coffin 

At her side on that sad day. 

But that poor, heart-broken mother. 

To the girl made no reply. 
Save in sobs of bitter anguish — 

Yes, bitter was that mother's cry. 

Then the chaplain from his posture 
Raises, and the silver taps unscrews, 

While his tears are thickly falling, 
Falling thick as morning dews. 

And the lid he gently raises. 

And aside the pall he lays; 
With his eyes to God uplifted. 

And in solemn tones he pi'ays: 

Blessed Lord, ! gracious Father, 

Thou who giveth and who takes; 
Heal the wound that Thou hast riven. 

Ere the cords of life do break. 



68 AFTEIi SUNSIOT. 

Lend Thy tender hand of mercy, 
And the burden on her heart 

Help her bear, O ! Blessed Father, 
And to her Thy grace impart. 

We who 've mom*ned, as does our sister, 
For our loved ones past and gone. 

Join to-day our hearts in pity 
For the mother left alone. 

As we go to yonder graveyard, 
To yon silent grave to fill. 

Comfort Thou this aged mother, 
And her fears and sorrows still. 

Comfort her, O! blessed Savior, 
She who sorrows for her son ; 

Teach her that Thy will is justice. 
And to say, "Thy will be done." 

Then that poor old Mother Faunson 
Totters to the grave, where she 

Cries in tones of bitter anguish, 
Dead! O, Edward, can it be? 

And again she tells her story, 
^ Same as in the chapel old; 

But her voice is growing fainter. 
And her limbs are growing cold. 

And the heart chat's borne the burdens 
Of the eighty yeai's gone by. 

Now grows calmer, as the angels 
Beckon to her from on high. 

And she sings this sweet old anthem, 
Which had been his lullaby, 

"He justly claims a song from me;" 
And ere the song was ended. 

His "loving kindness'' was so free. 



AFTER SUNSET. 69 



THE DRFMMER BOY 



r,i 




ARK I What a noise in the distance 1 hear; 
If It brings to nie sad news of my Edward, I fear; 
Ag'ain, and aj^ain, the loud cannonade, 
Sends a blast over mountain, through valley and glade. 

0! sentinel, hear me, take heed to my cry; 
Lead me, through the distance, to Edward, for I 
Must see and embrace by brave boy again ; 
Yes. lead me to Edward, e'en though he be slain. 

They took from my bosom my Edward, my brave. 

Thus making his mother to trouble a slave; 

So lead me to Edward, that T may again 

Clasp my son to my bosom, e'en though he be slain. 

Thus, while she was speaking, the sentinel grew sad, 
For he saw that the ambulance was bearing the lad ; 
The one who this mother was longing again 
To clasp to her bosom, in the battle was slain. 

When the ambulance passed by the heart-stricken one 
She cried, ! I wonder if that is my son ! 
And the sentinel answered, with tears in his eyes, 
Y'es, thy son, my dear madam, on the ambulance lies. 

Is he wounded? O, tell me! O, tell me! she said. 

Not wounded, dear madam, not wounded, but dead. 

Was answered by one who was bearing the boy; 

Yes, the dear little drummer, who was the company's joy. 

Not far from the breastworks was our dear little Ed, 
When an enemy's Ijall passed through his dear head, 
And took one from our number which by all will be missed, 
Thus saying, he stooped and the drummei- boy kissed. 

The mother then knelt by her darling son. 
And the horrifying shrieks of that heart-stricken one 
Was heard o'er the battlefield on that sad, sad day, 
That the little drummer boy on the ambulance lay. 

And what writer could pen that poor mother's grief, 
Or. who from her anguish could give her relief; 
There's no one save Jesus, that high, holy One, 
That could (^uiet her sobl)ings for her onl}' son. 




70 AFTER SrXSET. 



WHEN YOU DID ME BETRAY. 

iH, me! if 1 could turn again 
The leaf which thy owu hands did stain, 
The leaf whose pages glistened bright, 
Till soiled by you upon that night, 

That you did me betray. 

Ah! could I turn its pages o'er, 
And tell, upon that blissful shore, 
That never such a stain was seen 
Upon its pages once so clean. 

But no! for my god did betray. 

I say my god, for truly thou 
Art all that m^^ heart worships now, 
And ever since I met with thee 
I've loved and worshiped none but thee. 
E'en though you did betray. 

O tell me! tell me, Edward Gause, 
Why you my heart this grief did cause, 
When you outraged the one who now 
Is weeping still with pallid brow, 
Because you did betray. 

Although her virtue is the same 
As 'twas before you — to your shame. 
Betrayed her, even though she cried 
In earnest pleading, at thy side. 
That you would not betray. 

Yet feels she, like her life once bright. 
Was blighted by you on that night. 
When she in anguish then did cry, 
"O, God, I'd rather, rather die!" 
But still vou did betrav. 



AFTEK SUNSET. 71 



Ah, tell me darling, tell me why 
You made my life a clouded sky, 
A sky from which the bright sunbeams 
In shining threads of gold ne'er streams 
Across my rugged path. 

Ah no! the sunbeams never play 
Across my dark and dreary way, 
Across my path which was so bright, 
Till darkened made by you that night. 
That you did me betray. 

Ah! could I kneel beside the Throne, 
And be with Jesus there alone, 
I'd tell to Him my burdened care, 
And tell Him how you did ensnare 
The heart that you betrayed. 

I'd ask Hiui to remove the stain 
And tear the crimson leaf intwain, 
80 that our God might never see 
The crimson stain you placed on me, 
AVhen you did me betra3\ 




AVHEN WE SAT IN THE MOONvSHINE, EDAVARD. 

'HEN we sat in the moonshine, Edward, 
' And the beautiful stars look down, 
Peeping through the bright sky above us, 
Giving beauty to all around, 
I thought in the moonshine, Edward, 

That the joys of heaven were few 
Compared to the joys of m^^ bosom— 
The joy of being with you. 



AFTER SUNSET. 

When we sat in the moonshine, Edward, 

And the moon's silveiy o-leam kissfed thy face,. 
Though I knew that its gleaming- was lovely, 

Yet it added not to thy grace; 
For I thought in the moonshine, Edward, 

That heaven was not half so fair. 
And its angels were not half so lovely 

As the one who sat with me there. 

When we sat in the moonshine, Edward, 

My life seemed a heaven to me, 
And my heart then knew not a sorrow, 

But was beating so happy and free. 
But at last in the moonshine, Edward, 

You acted so dreadfully strange 
That my heart then stopped its calm beating. 

And stood still at the dreadful change. 

When we sat in the moonshine, Edward. 

My life never seemed half so bright 
As it did when I sat by you, Edward, 

Before you proved traitor that night; 
And I thought in the moonshine, Edward, 

While around us the moon beams did glare, 
That my love was both strona; and tender 

For the one who sat with me there. 

When we sat in the moonshine, Edward, 

At the close of my last happy day. 
For the sunbeams of life last shone on me 

When you spoke that which was cruel to say; 
And I pray I may ne'er again suffer 

The anguish I suffered that night. 
When you, my heart's cherished idol. 

Made heavy the heart that was light. 



AFTI-:K SINSET. 7Ji 



J. X. SNODOKASS. 

In memory of my uncle, J. W. Snodgrass. who was a volunteer in 
Co. G. 80th Til. Inf. Regiment, in the late Kehellion, and who died 
in the hospital while in his country's service. 

*^W||i||/jf?ITHIN the liospitars gloomy walls 

'^Jr^lfrt'' ^^'^^ ^ soldier dyino; there, 
^^^^^^ Without a loved one to smooth his couch 
Or breathe for him a prayer. 

AVithont a brother, or a sister 

Fi'om the dear old home he left, 
AVhere his absence seemed a shadow 

In that lonely- home l)ereft. 

And no sweet mother's hand was there 

His aching brow to smooth, 
For tell me, was there ever pain 

That mothei- coidd not soothe? 

Waiters smooth his dying pillow. 
Breathe for him a solemn prayer, 

Tell him that we'll ne'er forget him, 
That his home we hope to share. 

Tell him that onr hearts beat warmly, 
Though from him we're far away, 

But the distance cannot lessen 
Our love in any way. 

Bear his soul, ye angels, onward, 

Bear it to the golden gate, 
Where no storms will ever cross it 

In that blest eternal state. 

Where no more the noise of battle, 

And the canon's whistling monn. 
Can disturb the noble soldiei- 

Who in the hos])ital dies alone. 



74 AFTEIf HIJXSET. 



AT THE SHARPS. 



^^T the Sharp.s, the school now (•h)ses. 
And a train of buggies go 
>To the home of Nellie Caston, 

AVhere e'en the liquors seemed to grow; 
For upon her father's table 

There were wines all tints of i-ed, 
And around the students gathered 
Excepting one, the gallant Ed. 

And he said, my denrest Nellie, 

As he called her- to his side, 
I most humbly beg your pardon 

But, dear ]\liss, my father died 
From the effects of this vile poison, 

In a filthy old grog shop. 
And my ])oor, old darling mother 

Begged me ne'er to taste a dro]). 

And I knelt beside his coffin. 

And his bloated face did kiss. 
While 1 made a vow to mother 

That I'd never taste of this; 
But she held the glass before him 

While its contents s])arkled bright. 
Drink it to my health, dear Edward, 

Di'iidv it, ])lease, foi- me to-night. 

Then he looked with horror on her 

While his bosom heaved a sigh, 
And he said, no, dearest Nellie, 

I would rather, rather die; 
But she coaxed, enticed, bewitched him, 

And he drank, that noble son. 
Broke the i)ledge he'd made his mother 

Just to i)lease that foolish one. 



AFTER WUNSICT. ' "^ 

Then the demon did bewitcli liini. 

And he drank as did the rest, 
For the cravings of his father 

Seemed to bnrn within his breast ; 
And before the next day's (hiwning 

Had api)eared npon the Sharps, 
In a room where sat a mourner, 

Edward Allen lay a corpse. 

'Twas his mother, need I tell yon. 

Sorrowing that her son had come 
To his death, by that bold demon, 

Yes, the accursed demon, rum; 
AVhich in his face had left its traces, 

Adding to his looks ten years. 
And at this the gray-haired mother 

Bathed her furrowed face in tears. 

And the shrieks of that poor mother 

Filled the gloomy mid-night air, 
Deaf'ning were her sobs of anguish. 

While she knelt beside him there: 
And her hands, so old and wrinkled. 

Smoothed the face so pallid now, 
While she, in her bitter anguish, 

Bathed in tears the marble bro\\-. 

Crying, mother, father, have I burried. 

Brothers five and sisters three, 
Then a husband and four daughters. 

And, O God! it seems to me, 
Just as though I am not wanted 

In their ha])py home up there, 
But was left to bear this burden 

Which I can no longer bear. 



76 AFTE1{ SUNSET. 

Sn yiiig' this liei' voice then faltered, 

AVhile her face grew ashy pale, 
lettering, Q my lost! lost Edward, 

Which then proved her last sad wail 
But to give him all the credit 

That his once brave heart deserved, 
He was sick on that sad evening, 

TiOng before the wines were served. 



PARDON SOUGHT. 

\ SIMPLY ask this boon of thee 
That thou wilt listen unto me. 

-• Yes, listen please, and give me time 
To tell, e'en though I tell in rhyme, 
Why I the name of Edward choose, 
AVhy I this name forever nse. 

AVlien 1 was small in childhood's joy 
I loved an Edward, but a boy, 
Hnt 1 am wiser now than then, 
And |)roud to say I love not men, 
{excepting those who bear the name 
Of Henry, which wonld strike a flame. 
Of love e'en in a heart of stone, 
Then why not strike a flame my own. 

So this I simply beg of thee 

That thon, young man, wilt ])ardon me- 

For telling you what Eve confessed. 

That I the author loves thee best 

Of all the world, so now I pray 

That thou wilt pardon me. Good-day. 




AFTEK SINSET. 77 

IN MEMORIAM. 

In meiiKiry ol' my little nephcnv who died in iiifiincy, uniiauied. 

WAS a dear little tiower that came to stay 
At oiir happy home, on an April clay. 
He was little and youn<i\ but we loved him well; 
Yes, loved him with a love that no tongue can tell. 

But this darling's visit did not prolong, 
For he seemed to long for a heavenly song. 
He seemed to long for heaven above. 
From whence had come this cherub of love. 

And at last our darling that we loved so well, 
Died, then our sorrow no tongue can tell. 
When the angel of death with his sickle keen 
Stood our darling and us between. 

And plucked the bud that was blooming there. 
Though our voices rose to God in prayer; 
Rose on the wings of the angel of love. 
Till it reached the golden gate above. 

But the answer came back in the silent aii-. 
To our broken hearts in deep dispair: 
Fow and humble did seem the tone 
Which said, weep not, thou art not alone. 

For I, the Savior, once supped of this, 

Ere I entered the realms of endless bliss; 

But the babe I must take, and I'll take fi-oni thee 

Thy burden, too, if you'll give it Me. 

I know it is hard, for I've sorrowed, too. 
And in knowing thy anguish I feel for you: 
F>ut remember, dear ones, I remember it well. 
When on Calvary's Mountain on my knees I fell. 

And this same cup, which you're drinking now 
Caused Me "neath the chast'ning rod to bow. 
Though 1 prayed as you have, I.,ord remove the cup, 
But 1 found I must di-ink it, yes, drink it up. 



78 



AFTE1{ SUNSET 



And I drank, yes, in the Bible 3'ou'll find 
Where I to the Father M}^ will did resi2:u. 
So diy thy tears and weep no more, 
For 3'on'll not be lono- on this side the shore. 

Soon the Master, His harvest will garner in, 
Then^be sure, ah, sure, that you're free from sin, 
For if not, thy cup will be worse than now, 
When gazing: in sorrow on this marble brow. 

But adieu; I must welcome the babe that I gave 
My life from endless destruction to save. 
So "Honor Him to whom honor is due," 
Till I call you to the home prepared for you. 




ADDRESSED TO MY MOTHER. 

OTHER, life seems but a tempest 
Since you left this world below, 
And my heart 's still fainter growing 
From the pressure of that blow. 

Mothei', life's paths are hard to travel, 
They are steep, and rugged, too, 

And my feet grow weary quicker 
Than whtn pattering after you. 

Mother, life is nothing to me 
Since thy face I see no more, 

And 1 long for death to call me 
To thee on that peaceful shore. 

Mother, Fve no friends worth loving. 
This to some nmy seem untrue. 

But I mean there's none like mother. 
Though warm hearted, none like you. 



AFTER SUNSET. 70 

COUNTY ANTRIM'S SON. 

TO MY father's MEMORY AS HE EMBARKED FOR AMERICA. 

'O the ship he comes, he enters, 

But methinks his tlioughts did roam 
Where he'd left his widowed mother 
In her humble island home. 

Then perhaps, a sigh, a shudder, 

And the journey is begun, 
And aross the mighty ocean 

Sails County Antrim's fairest son. 

And, methinks, that anxious mother, 

Long before she fell asleep, 
Asked protection for her darling, 

Who was sailing o'er the deep. 

He has crossed the mighty ocean, 

And beyond its glittering foam 
Left he there his widowed mother, 

Left he there his island home. 

Passing by an humble cottage, 

O'er its quaint old fence he leans, 
Plucks a flower fiom its garden, 

Just then blushing in its teens. 

And that fair and youthful maiden, 

Blushing then a happy bride. 
For she knew she was the winner 

Of County Antrim's fairest pride. 

Then 3'^oung Jimraie, ever thoughtful 

Of his mother, that dear one- 
Put together his hard earnings, 

Thus did County Antrim's son. 

Sent it far across the ocean, 

Sent he there for loved ones, three. 
Brought them over to this country, 

That their hoires niight happy be. 



80 AFTER SUNSET. 

"Twas his mother, and two sisters. 

That my father, that dear one, 
Sent for, far across the ocean ; 

Thus did County Antrim's son. 

Then, when sitting- by liis fireside, 
'Round his knees his children came. 

He'd sing, "The coows liae gone to the silv'ry wood, 
And they're lang about coomin' harae." 

But now he's gone from earth forever, 

(lone to Christ, the crucified ; 
And his name we'll cherish ever, 

Pointing to his life with pride. 




THE ONLY CHILD. 

^ EAR Ed, when I arose this morning 
And looked in the little bed, 
Where we'd watched o'er the form of our darling 
And thought of his being dead. 

I thought the burden would crush me, 

I wept like my heart would break. 
As I knelt me down by the bedside 

And prayed that he nnght awake. 

But it seemed that our loving Savior 
Took the burden from off my heart, 

And said, weep not for thy offspring. 
But ai'ise and do thy pai-t. 

And I rose and said. Lord 1 surrendei-. 

Thy will is certaiidy mine, 
Thou gave him to me and now in return 

I givo him to Thee to be Thine. 

And now, though oiii- home seemeth lonely. 

Yet the sunshine of Christ I enjoy. 
The sunshin(^ which death can't o'ershadow, 

E'en the death of onr dear little bov. 




AFTEIC SINHET. 81 



THE ANXIOUS BRIDE ELECT. 

EIjL, May, Em ^oiiig to get inaiTied. 

When Nellie? Tomorrow my dear, 
J^Tit somehow my heart .seems so weary 
Eor my lover 's a druukard, I fear. 

Because, when he last came to see me 

He acted so dreadfully strange, 
And his face was so finslied and so feverish, 

dear, 'twas a dreadful change. 

Yes, a change from the first time I met him, 
Which was down at Middleton Hall, 

Where we two chanced to be in the set, May, 
And dancing to 'Lanigan's iiall." 

I remember the first time I saw him. 
When fii'st I caught his sweet glance, 

I had made a misstep to the music- 
Just at the close of the dance. 

And he smiled so sweetly upon me 
That my face turned a crimson hue, 

When he said, you seemed tangled to-niglit. Miss, 
But my heart 's just as tangled with you. 

What! May, did I hear you distinctly, 
Don't wed him, is that what you say? 

Discard now the one that I cherish. 
When to-morrow he has set foi* the day? 

Ah no ! I can ne'er disappoint him 
Though he to me may prove untrue. 

But I love him so well that I'll wed him. 
Yes wed him, e'en though I may rue. 

Eor I've loved him too well to now chide him, 

He's the joy of my life and 's my pride. 
And to-morrow at yonder sun's setting 

1 will be Y'oung Esterson's bride. 

— () 



82 AFTER SUNSET. 



GLIDED BY. 



]M^ THE days that's glided by, 

A\]f/ Childhood's days that's glided by, 

'^^-^ Angels tell to iny faint heart 

Why those days have glided by. 



CHORUS. 

O, the days that's glided by, 
Glided by, glided by, 

My faint heart its all would give 
For the days that's glided by 

0, the days that's glided by. 
Golden daj's that's glided b}^ 
Angels bear my heart away 
To the days that's glided by. 

O the days that's glided by, 
Blessed days that's glided by, 
Angels bring them back to me 
Happy days that's glided by. 

0, the days that's glided by, 
Happy days that's glided by, 
Angels bring them back again. 
Bring the days that's glided by. 



AFTEU SUNSET. 83 



A MAIDEN'S ADDRESS TO HER LOVER. 



(^ USTRALIA'S mines did I possess 
Jm/ I'd give could I thy form caress, 
^ eTust as I did iu days since flown 
When I lived for thee and thee alone. 



Dear Fied, for thee my heart still yearns, 
For thee this passionate love still burns, 
For thee, and only thee, I live 
And to thee only my heart I'd give. 

Yes, lovingly I call thee dear, 
Who to my heart is ever near, 
Though you another seem to choose 
Because my love you do refuse. 

In not acceptina; the willing hand 
That is ever ready at thy command, 
To join thine own in wedded life. 
To forever be thy devoted w^ife. 



84 AFTER SUNSi:T. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

^^1^ LEASE, mister, will you give me a penny? 
I've had nothing since yesterday's morn, 
And to-morrow, they tell me, is Christmas, 
The day on which Jesus was born. 

The day on which all should be happy, 

So mamma did tell me before 
She went to hve with dear Jesus, 

In His home on the heavenly shore. 

And now I'm without even a penny. 
Because my poor mamma had none; 

But said she'd a rich Father in heaven, 
And that Jesus ('hrist was His son. 

And that Jesus would always befriend me. 
And care for me when she was dead, 

Then some da^^ He'd take me to heaven. 
Where I 'd never be hungry for bread. 

This same blessed Jesus, dear mister, 
Who was born years ago in a stall, 

And all the wise men, and the rulers, did go 
To see Him, who was Lord of them all. 

You ask why I've not gotten a penny, 
Which fills my poor heart e'en with gall; 

For I'm too little to earn my own living. 
And my poor papa's wages are small. 

But that isn't the worst of it, mister; 

He spends for drink all he can make, 
And that is the reason that mamma's 

Poor heart did in poverty break. 

Who is Jesus? Is that what 3'ou're asking? 

Why, He's the dear One who died on the cross 
That all, including you and me, niister, 

Through His death might suffer no loss. 



AFTfc:i{ yiNsioT. 85 

Last Sabbath I went to yon church there; 

I was poor, but still I went in, 
And the rich all seemed to <2,aze at me, 

Just as though they thought it a sin 

To be dressed in their fine church as I was. 

Well, I was poorly clad, but within 
I was clad with the grare of my Savior, 

And was happy as though T had been 

Dressed in the finest of satins. 

Vnd when a hymn was pronounced, then I sang — 
I sang just as loudly as any; 

Yes, 1 tell you, my little voice rang. 

,And I tell you it did me good, mister, 
To sing praise Lo dear Jesus, for He 
Loves little children; for He said while on eai'th 
"Suffer little children to come unto me." 

And I've come, and I'll stay, and I'll trust Him, 

Even though my lot seemeth hard ; 

But I'll toil on and not murmur at it, 

. Yes, toil till I reach my dear Lord. 

But a part of the sermon, dear mister, 

To which I'll refer to just now, 
Caused my heart for a moment to flutter, 

While a cloud o'ershadowed my brow. 

'Twas this: The preacher said in his sermon, 
Which for a moment made my heart beat so"wild, 

That a drunkard could not enter heaven ; 
Then I thought, well, what of their child? 

Are their children, too, barred out of heaven, 

And cast in the lake below, 
That burns with fire and brimstone, 

Where they say all the poor drunkards go? 

Then I thought, well I am no drunkard. 

For I never have tasted of rum; 
But papa has — pooi- papa 

Is always drunk when he comes home. 



<S() AFTER SUNSET. 

And I prayed that God would forp,-ive him, 
And help him refi-aiii from the wrong', 

That he mig-ht go to Jesus in heaven, 
And sino' there a heavenh^ song. 

And quiet then filled my young bosom; 

'Twas as calm as the breast of the sea 
When Christ spake to the angry waters, 

And bade them quiet to be. 

I've told you a true story, mister. 

So please give me a penny, I pray; 
What! go with you to your home, did you say, sir, 

Forever at your home to stay! 

O! thanks to my blessed Father, 

And to Jesus, His Holy Son, 
Who put in your heart, my dear mister. 

To do the blessing to me that you've done. 

You weeping? Why are you, dear mister? 

You weeping, wlien 1 am in glee; 
O ! you ask if my blessed Savior 

Would take pity on one like thee. 

Why, yes; for He says in the Bible, 

" If any man will open the door, 
I will come in and sip with him and he with me." 

So now, my dear mister, what more 

Could you ask of that blessed Redeemer, 

Who is longing to make you free 
From the sin of this world, if you'll open the door, 

He will come in and sip with thee. 

Her words caused a change in the infidel's heart, 

Who took her his home to share; 
So you see, if we're faithful to God, we'll do good 

By the cross that He gives us to bear. 



AFTER SUXWKT. 87 



THE FLOWER TAKEN. 

IN MEMORY or MY LITTLE NEPHEW WHO DIED IN INFANCY UNNAMED. 

'HERE'S a vacant place in heaven, 

There's a flower needed there, 
And the ang-el of death looks down on earth 
And seeth a rosebud fair. 

He thinks as he stays his sickle, 
For a moment as he enters the room, 

'Tis a sweet little treasure that I have found, 
Fll pluck it ere it shall bloom. 

For who e'er saw a blooming- rose. 

But trouble, a thorn was nigh. 
So this bud I'll take, that it may bloom 

Far up above the sky. 

So mamma, do not weep for him, 

I've only kissed his breath awaj', 
That I might bear him to the Lamb, 

To rest until the Judgment Day. 

Where he shall never know the trials. 

That living mortals here must bear, 
So I to Christ do take th3' babe, 

To draw you and his papa there. 



88 AFTER SUNSET. 

. FIXING HIS TENT FOR THE NIGHT. 

*j|r OOK at yon traveler, weary, forlorn, 
3^ As he fixes his tent for the night, 
'^^^^^He thinks if I only may rest here awhile, 
And arise in the morning light, 

I will then be refreshed, and onward I'll go 

To the mines where I'm longing to be. 
Where I expect to gain a vast portion of wealth, 

That from poverty I may free. 

He has traveled o'er many a weary road, 

And has left behind many a mile, 
And is making his way to the western mines, 

Where he expects to greet wealth with a smile. 

Poor man thinks of naught, but the goods of this life,. 

Thus from coveting his heart is not free, 
And little he thinks that he may hear, "To-night 

Thy soul is required of thee," 

O, traveler, thou weary one, ponder o'er this, 

Though you perish for bread here below. 
For remember that Christ was "an hungered" ere He 

To His home in the mansions did go. 

On that memorable mount, "I am an hungered," He said, 

Then angels, lo, angels of light, 
Did gather around and minister to Him, 

To Him on that memorable night. 

So when Jesus himself did hunger below. 

Don't worry, though you hunger, too, 
For the Master will see that your wants are supplied. 

If you to His cause will be true. 

And thou who art fixing thy tent for the night, 
When you're setting the stakes, O, be sure 

That they're set on the Rock of Ages, lest you 
Endless hell, forever endure. 



Al'TEU SUNSET. 89 



"SMARTY HAD A PARTY." 

44 .^^ MARTY had a party, and nobody came," 

^^\ But the eve was spent with pleasure, witli pleasure 
^W-^' just the same. 
As though the room had been full of guests, yes full of in- 
vited guests, 
Who would pass away the evening with their many idle 
jests. 

So "Smarty had a party, and nobody came," 
But "Smarty" wasn't sorry, neither felt she any shame, 
Because the guests invited did not come to spend the eve, 
Then '"Smarty" who was smarty, thought her guests she 

would deceive. 
So "Smarty had a party, and nobody came," 
Then she wrote a little notice, and who could "Smarty" 

blame. 
Though she nmde it as she wrote it, just made it to deceive 
The guests who did not gather on that appointed eve. 

When "Smarty had a party, and nobody came," 

But "Smarty" did enjoy herself in playing many a game 

Of cards, and then she played and danced, 0, "Smarty" 

she was fine, 
So she wrote a little notice, yes, wrote it down in line, 
That her guests did number twenty, and the refreshment!* 

served at ten 
Were enjoyed by all those present, who took leave of absence 

then . 

And then this little notice w^hich she'd written down in line^ 
She took it to the editor just awhile before 'twas nine, 
Who thanked her, as he took it, then when the morning. 

came. 
It was published in the Register, and who could "Smarty" 

blame. 



90 AFTEIi SUNSET. 



'TILL DEATH US PART. " 



nrt^^ E'VE met at last, and for the first 



-Ip! It Since we have been apart; 
■ ^ Since you for^'ot the vow you made, 
"Till death us part." 

O, happy day! my bridal day, 

'Twas happy, thoug-h so short, 
For soon you did forg-et, dear Ed, 

"Till death us part." 

O, different was that day to this; 

Then proud was my young heart. 
When you placed the ring upon my hand 

And said, "Till death us part." 

But since, my heart you've crushed dead, Ed: 

Yes, pierced it like a dart 
When you left me, ah, forgetting, Ed, 

"Tin death us part." 

O. do not liurr^^ so, dear Ed! 

AVhat, hush! hush! I cannot, 
I cannot hush; my heart's too full 

To hush. "Till death us part." 

So, saying this, her heart gave way; 

'Twas pierced as with a dart, 
Yes, broken by the one who once 

Did vow, "Till death us part." 



AFTKK srXiSET. 01 




HUSHED IS THE VOICE OF OUR DARLING. 

In memory of little R03' Miller, son of Mr. and Mrs. R. J. Miller, 

near Eden, 111. 

USHED is the voice of our darlino;. 

Sealed are his httle eyes. 
And far o'er d€'ath's foaming billows, 

Sweetly his spirit did rise. 

To the Savior, who lovingly called him 

To the home prepared for the blest, 
AVhere, ever, the form of our darling 

Shall rest on the Savior's breast. 

His calling was not unexpected, 

For our loved one had told us before 
That e'er the storms of the winter would visit our home, 

His life, on this earth, would be o'er. 

When we found his words were prophetic, 

Our hearts were then sorely shocked 
To think the coffin should follow, so closely, 

The crib where our darling was rocked. 
But no hope of our darling's recovery. 

No power, his life could save; 
So we shrouded our child for the coffin. 

And followed our Roy to the grave. 



92 AFTER .SUNSET. 

THE END OF THE THREE. 

'(5|^HP]Y were on the ship, tlie mother and child, 
^Wrj^ And were trying to cross the wave, 
A But the ship they were on, was by accident wrecked. 
And no power seemed near to save. 

At last there came near wheie the poor mother stood, 
Clinging-, as mother's will cling to their child, 

A life boat, though full, yet the poor mother cried. 
In tones of anguish, so wild: 

O, say! my brave men, take me and my child, 

That we may again reach the shore! 
But that heart-stricken one was answered this way — 

Madam, we dare not take any more. 

Then her sobs touched a heart, and he cried, take them, too,. 

But was answered, it cannot be done ; 
But he pled, O! so earnest, that at last it was said. 

We'll take one, but just only one. 

Who, then, do you reckon, was placed in the boat? 

Was it mother, or son, who was there? 
Twas the son, who was kissed, yes, dearly caressed 

By the mother, who was left in despair; 

Who said, as she handed him into the boat. 

If you live j'our father to see, 
Tell him I died to save you ; then the strong billows swept 

Her soul into eternity. 

The shore has been reached, the husband is there; 

He is handed his four-year-old boy, 
But he cries, 0, my wife! my wife, where is she? 

My wife, my pride, and my joy. 

He was answered by him who had sympath^'^ shown 

To her who was left in the deep, 
I'm sorry, dear sir, but your darling wife lies 

'Neath the ocean's billows, asleep. 



AFTEIf SL'NSET. 93 

Then lip took liis cliild, the offspring of her 

WJio .slee]js 'iieath the ocean's wave. 
Who was longino- to reach the one dear to her heart, 

But instead found a watery grave. 

Yes he takes his child to his lonely home, 

The home which to him seems undone, 
And he cries as he enters and falls on the floor, 

My life is as yon setting sun. 

His words were prophetic, he died where he lav, 
And a kind neiglibor who chanced there to be. 

Took the child, who, though young, in grief pined away^ 
So this was the end of the three. 




KILLED BY THL MIDNIGHT TRAIN. 

To the memory of the unfortuneate man, who was killed by the 
midnight train of the Mobile and Ohio, but a few steps from Percy, 111. 

iTTEXTION, fellow citizens, give ear to what I say, 
^Jlie mangled corpse of a poor man was found upon 
the way. 

Not far from yonder gate of hell, that's open now in Percy, 
Where iSatan deals to old and young his poison without 
mercy. 

The unfortunate man had spent the eve 

In that fiendish hell, a saloon, 
^^'hich will drive its frequenters to heinous crimes, 

Like the winds would toss a balloon. 

On Saturday evening he left the saloon 

And started for his home again, 
Though staggering drunk, he went on the track 

Just before the midnight train. 



94 AFTKR SUX8KT. 

Yes, he started for home. Init he reached it not, 

The home where he'll ne'er be ag;ain, 
For his mangled corpse on the track was found. 

Crushed by the midnio'ht train. 

'Tis sad to think that he'd started for home 

When liquor had crazed so his brain, 
But he staggered along on the M. & 0. track, 

Till killed b^^ the midnight train. 

Methinks I can see him as he reeled to and fro, 

From this side to that side again. 
Though I cannot imagine the thoughts in his heart 

When killed by the midnight train. 

O, sad must have been the scene where he lay, 

With his poor body torn in twain. 
While his heart's blood was spilt on the M. & O. track, 

Spilt there by the midnight train. 

But they gathered his body, though crushed as it was, 

Leaving naught but the crimson stain, 
Which marked the place of the sad end of him 
AVho was killed by the midnight train. 

And no one kept vigil o'er his silent corpse, 

AVhich on the M. & O. track had lain. 
From the time the unfortunate man had been struck 

By the engine of the midnight train — 

Till the early morn wdien there chanced to be 

A tramp passing bv the slain. 
Who retraced his steps and told the sad case of him 

Who was killed by the midnight train, 

God pity the man who sold him the rum, 

God pity, I must say it again. 
On whose head rests the blood of the unfortunate man, 

Who was killed by the midnight train. 



AFTER SUNSET. D5 

The barkeeper's bondmen, God pity them, too, 
For they murdered, yes murdered the slain, 

For they all had a hand in the sad end of him 
Who was killed by the midnight train. 

And now, to youths as well as to men, 

Forever from li(]uor refrain. 
Lest your life end in grief, as did the life of the one 

Who was killed by the midnight train. 




HAIL! CHRISTMAS M(3RN. 

Written by request of Mrs. Lippe, of St. Louis, Mo., she clioosing: 
Christmas for the subject. 

AIL! Christmas morn, 0, blessed morn! 
On Avhich to us a child was born; 
A child, a saviour, priest and king. 
Who to the world did freedom bring. 

For sin did on this earth abound. 
For which no pardon could be found 
Except to us be born a sage, 
A son of heavenly parentage. 

Hail! Holy light, whose rays did fall 
Upon the infant in the stall ; 
Whose rays first shone u]ion the face 
Of the infant Christ so full of grace. 

Hail! Holy star, that proved the guide 

To Him, who at His mother's side, 

Did in a stall lay meek and mild. 

Though "King of Kings," and God's own child. 

Hail! Holy star, that marked the way 
To where the infant Jesus lay. 
That all the people, great and small. 
Might view Him, who was Lord of all. 

Hail ! Blessed Christ, from whence whose side 
There flows a gentle ebbing tide. 
To which I come, that here I may 
Have all my sins, yes, washed awixy. 



96 AFTER SUNSET. 

DYING ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND. 

'AKE my knapsack, take it, comrade. 
Take it home to mother, dear, 

And the Bible that's within it 
Tell her I've read with many a tear. 

Sit thou closer to me, comrade. 
Smooth my rutfled pillow down. 

For I'm wounded and am dying-, 
Dying- on the old camp ground. 

Lean a little closer, comrade. 
For my wound is bleeding yet. 

And it injures thus my breathing, 
O, God, just a moment let 

Me have strength to speak distinctly. 
So I'll know he'll ne'er forget 

What I'd have him tell my mother 

If he lives her face to see, 
Tell her, comrade, don't forget it, 

That her son from sin died free. 

Though he fell within the battle. 
Which to him a hell seemed then, 

'Tween the roaring of the cannon 
And the cursings of the men 

Who were wounded in the battle, 
AVounded, were they, as her son, 

But, dear comrade, tell my mother 
That her son did utter none. 

But instead, the prayer she taught me, 
"Now I lay me down to sleep;" 

For 1 seemed to know, dear comrade, 
That soon God my soul would keep. 

So, tell mother, that Til never 
Hear again the cannon's sound. 

For I'am wounded, and am dying, 
Dying on the old camp ground. 



aftp:h siLxwET. 97 



THE DEATH ANGEI/S VISIT. 

In memory of little Eoj' Miller, son of Mr. and Mrs. R. J. Miller 
of near Eden, 111. 

FHE angel of death again has '3ome 
And quietly visits the Miller home, 
Bearing sad news as he enters in 
The home where the stifled sobs begin. 

But a few fleet moments it seems to me, 

Perhaps, no longer it seems to thee. 

Since I plucked a floweret here before 

And bore .your loved one to the golden shore. 

And again I have come with m\' sickle bright 
To pluck another for the land of light, 
In gathering "His jewels," I must search with care, 
And of all the world I find Roy most fair. 

80 your darling's voice you can hear no more 

Till 3'ou hear its ring on a distant shore. 

Then as soon as the warning to his parents was given, 

Roy's soul was borne to the gates of heaven. 

Father, the voice of Thy crucified, 

Here is a soul for which I have died, 

As He lovingly sat him on the shining throne; 

But w'hat of the parents who are left to mourn? 

I know what it is to be bereft, 

For o'er the grave of Lazarus I wept; 

I'll go and visit their darkened home 

That peace to their wounded hearts may come. 

Hark ! 'Tis your Saviour who knocks at your door, 
For I know that your hearts have been stricken sore 
For the child that I've taken, my life I gave 
From endless destruction his soul to save. 



98 AP^TER SUNSET. 

Your cross may seem heavy and "grievous to be borne," 
But the cross of the world I've carried alone, 
And, O, what agony my bosom knew, 
When the fiery trials I was coming through.* 

On yon lone mountain I went to pray 
That the cup from my lips might pass awa3^ ; 
But I drank; it was bitter; at last 'twas sweet, 
For in drinking I purchased thy souls' retreat 

From an endless doom which to you would have come 

Had I not left my Father's home; 

Had I not come to die on the cross 

That you, through my death, might suffer no loss. 

0, merciless world, it broke my heart, 
But I've borne it meekly, I've done my part. 
And of this same cup which you're drinking now, 
I've tasted, yes, drank, with thorns on m^^ brow. 

This cup I had drained when I cried, "I thirst," 
With throbbing brow and heart ready to burst; 
So, no truer a friend have you on earth or in heaven 
Than I who for you on the cross was given. 

So hush youi" sobs and dry your tears 
And bear your cross through the oncoming years ; 
"Take my yoke upon you and learn of Me," 
For "Mv grace is sufficient — is sufficient for thee." 



DREAMING OF THE JOYS ONCE KNOWN. 

yf NCE my life was happy, seeming, 
Till a storm of sorrow, streaming, 
Swept across my heart, then dreaming, 

Dretiming of the joys once known ; 
Dreaming of my life, once seeming 
Happy, till a storm came streaming 
O'er my young heart, which was dreaming. 
Dreaming of the joys once known. 



AFTKK SUNSET. 99 

Dreaming-, was I, of my treasure 
Which was once my only pleasure, 
But has since proved, but to measure 

Loads of ano-iiish to my soul. 
Loads of anguish did my treasure, 
Which was once my only pleasure, 
To my broken heart did measure 

Loads of anguish to my soul. 

And 1 sighed, e'en in my slumber, 
While my dreams were without number, 
Which would come with such a lumber 

Like a burden on my heart; 
Like a burden, e'en in slumber. 
While my dreams were without number, 
Did this sorrow seem to lumber 

Like a burden on my heart. 

And 1 wept, as one in sorrow. 
And I wished that on the morj-ow 
I could, e'en if I could borrow 

That wdiich would do well its part ; 
That which would relieve my sorrow. 
If I could but on tlie morrow 
iiain that which 1 fain would borrow, 

That which would do well its part. 

That which would relieve my weeping, 
Which was caused by storms, then sweeping 
O'er my young heart, which was reaping 

Bitterness, it knew not why ; 
Bitterness from storms then sweeping 
O'er my young heart, which was reaping 
Bittei'ness, which caused my weeping. 

Bitterness, it knew not why. 



100 AFTER SUNSET. 

BACK AT THE DEAR HOME AGAIN. 

(referring to my own home.) 

^^), ACK at tlie dear old home aiiain, 
T(^i But father, where is he? 

^-^' 'Neath the sod of the grave so dai'k and deep. 
His face is hidden from me. 

Back at the dear old home again. 

But mother is missing now. 
Hushed are those darling lips of hers 

And cold is her marble brow. 

Back at th6 dear old home again, 
The home which seems all undone, 

For out of eleven but five are left, 
And I the youngest one. 

Back at the dear old home again 

I stand in life's sad morn. 
Thinking of the six, the remaining six 

Who, too, at this home were born. 

Though one of the six I never knew 

For her soul to God had risen. 
Ere I could do aught but to laugh and crow 

She had found a home in heaven. 

But the remaining five are scattered far. 

Yes, scattered apart are they„ 
But blessed Father ma,y we meet again, 

May we meet again, I pray. 

Back at the dear old home again, 

The home that I love so well. 
So the words that were said at parting once 

May not prove a last farewell. 



AFTKR SUN8ET. 101 



DEAR LITTLE ONES. 



To the nieiuory of little Nannie and Myrtle Chambers, daughters of 
Mr. and Mrs. William Chambers, of vSt. Louis, Mo. 

^oEAR little ones, are they who sleep 
^J 'Neath the mould'ring sod of the g;rave so deep; 
Whose little hands we can clasp no more. 
Till we meet a<»;ain, on that blissful shore. 

O ! that mem'rable day, which came alono- 
, And sang to us a sorrowful song; 

Yes, loud and shrill were the tones that fell 
From the lips of the songster, who of death did tell. 

And bitter, O, bitter ! was the the awful scene, 
When the angel of death, with his sickle keen. 
Stood by their beds, while it glittered bright. 
And plucked two flowers for the mansions bright. 

Then we wept in anguish, where our darlings lay 
Thinking that once on a brighter day 
They'd been fondled, ah, yes, on a mother's breast. 
Who now weeps in sorrow where her loved ones rest. 

And on a father's knee they'd been lovingly tossed, 
But who now weeps o'er his loved ones lost, 
While his darling ones, in their shrouds, did lay 
Ready for burial on that sad, sad day. 

But weep not, dear parents, for there comes a day 

That God will drive your grief away; 

So, wounded hearts, turn to your God, 

And bow beneath His chast'ning rod. 

And lean thy heads upon the breast 

Of Him who gives the weary rest. 



102 AFTER SUNSET. 



THE WAYWARD SON. 

RUSTLE of silk, and a diamond's glare, 

And the eyes of a convict are fixed with a stare, 

Though the rules of the prison were, speak not to 

another, 
Yet the overcome convict cries out, O, my mother! 

Was it she who had known naught of the wrong 
Of him who had been from her presence so long? 
And who had not written, in those sad years of pain, 
To her who was longing to see him again? 

Indeed, it was she, who had given him birth, 
And thought him the dearest object on earth; 
And who had not dreamed that her wayward son 
Was in a prisoner's cell, for the wrong he had done. 

The mother, who had come with flowers and books 
To give to the prisoners, in astonishment looks, 
And sobbed, as she gazed on her wayward son — 
My God! my, God! What wrong have you done? 

The one who I've fondled in love on my knee, 
The one whom 1 thought my piide ever would be 
Occupies, to my grief, a prisoner's cell: 
O, Herald, my son! O, God! then she fell. 

On the floor, in a swoon, did the poor mother lay, 

Never more to awake till that blest coming day; 

And the son, who was weeping, then knelt by the dead, 

O, mother! dear mother! the prisoner said, 

I've made grief for myself, but the worst I have done 

Is having broken thy heart, 0, thou sainted one ! 



AFTEIf SUNSET. 



103 



On til}' face, where ho oft 1 have printed a kiss, 

I would fain print another, but only for this, 

My stripes, O, the accursed stripes! that 1 weai', 

Which have broken the heart that no lonoer couldf bear 

The iiTief which was caused by her only son 

In doing the wron«>-, the wi-ong he has done. 

But from this on, darling- mother, if I ever get free. 
I'll strive to be that which you wanted of me — 
A minister of the gospel, dear mother, I'll be. 
If from the walls of this prison I live to get free. 



FACES LOVED IN YOUTH, 



) 1,11 HERE are many happy faces 
/^ Which I loved in days gone by, 



e!J 



Whose spirits now are soaring 
Far above the starry sky. 

One is there, who in my childhood 
Calmed my every childish fear; 

One is there, whose cherished mem'ry 
To my heart is ever dear. 



WHAT IS MY LIFE TO ME? 




ADDRESSED TO 3IY MOTHER. 

, HAT is my life to me 
^ Since her face I cannot see, 
Beneath the sod? 

She, whose soul has risen 

Up to yon l)right heaven, 

The home of God. 



104 AFTER SUNSET. 




GOD BLESS THE DEAR OLD EIGHTIETH. 

In memory of the 80tb Illinois Regiment, of which my brother, 
Archie Stewart, and my uncle, J. W. Snodgrass, were volun- 
teers, my brother having faced the enemy till he was mustered out 
at the close of the war, but my uncle lost his life. 

^^ OD blesB the dear old Eightieth, 
^\ Our country's pride and joy: 

Long may she live under freedom's folds, 
The dear old Eightieth Illinois. 

For when the South took up her arms, 

Our country to destroy. 
No braver boys against her fouglit 

Than those of the Eightieth Illinois, 

(lod bless the dear old Eightieth. 

Who bravely did deploy, 
And may thy banner shield from harm, 

The dear old Eightieth Illinois. 

Yes, bless the deai- old Eightieth, 

And pardon every boy. 
Whose name was entered on the list 

Of the dear old Eightieth Illinois. 

Whose memory Ell ever cherish. 

As a child a treasured to3^ 
And breathe a prayer in their behalf; 

God bless the Eightieth Illinois. 



AFTER SIN SET. 105 



GOT HER OWN WORDS BACK. 

E was sleepiiio- on the sofa, 

Sleeplinii: heavily was he; 
And his dream, which I shall tell you, 

Caused him bitter ao-ony. 

It was this, that Mervo Nester, 

She, the heiress of the town. 
Stood beside youno- Edward Eston, 

In a snowy, silken o-own. 

And her hair in golden ringlets. 
Peeping 'neath her bridal veil. 

Which was pinned in folds with diamonds, 
Making thus a lovely trail. 

And when they were being married, 
The bell in yonder steeple tolled, 

And it seemed to say to Edward 
Thou hast married her for gold. 

And in doing so you've murdered 

Elgo, who did love you well, 
But who now in death is sleeping, 

She whose death those sad taps tell. 

Then his conscience stung him sorely, 
While his grief did on him sway. 

And he wandered to the forest. 
Thinking that he'd find a way 

To escape the bitter anguish. 
Which did crush his heart that day. 

.\nd he sat him down in silence, 
Pondering o'er what he had done, 

When a dove who sat above him 
Soon her bickering she begun. 



106 AFTER SUNSET. 

Yes, the dove which sat above hiin, 

Perched upon a swinging- limb, 
Stopped her cooing as she spied him, 

While she seemed to frown on him. 

Saying vou have killed the darling Elgo; 

Died she at her mother's side, 
Sobbing, I had hoped, with girlhood's fondness. 

To stand Edward Eston's chosen bride. 

Take the note which 1 can't finish, 

Take it, mother, to my Ed ; 
Tell him, when he's finished reading, 

That thy daughter Elgo's dead. 

And that he (though yet I love him) 
Was the cause of my sad death; 

liut I freely do forgive him, 
Said she with her latest breath. 

In the morn he wakes with terror — 
Thank God, 'tis a dream he said. 

But I'll dress and go to P]lgo; 
And he goes, but finds her dead. 

And the note which was unfinished, 

Lay within the coftin, too; 
And it read, dear Ed, I love you. 

Though to me you've been untrue. 

lUit, dear Ed, — a dash does finish, 

For her life had passed away; 
And at this the sad young lover 

Fell beside her shrouded clay. 

As he sobbed, O! what can this mean? 

For, my darling, I was true; 
While his tears like rain were falling, 

Thii^k were thev as morning dew. 



AFTER SUNSET. 

But at last the thing mysterious, 

Opened to the lioht one day; 
It was this, that Mervo Nester, 

(She, the heiress, young and gay) 
T.oved the gallant Edward Eston, 

And she sought his hand, but nay. 

For, he answered, I love Elgo 

Better than thy riches all. 
And I ne'er will wed another; 

So 'twas this that caused the pall 

To be yjlaced on poor, sweet Elgo; 

For her rival then did swear 
That the idol of his bosom 

Never Edward's home should share. 

So she got young Edward's handwrite. 
And disguised her own full well 

Into that of Edward Eston 's. 
And to Elgo she did tell. 

In the note that she had written, 
Which began, I've changed my mind, 

And I'll never wed thee, Elgo, 
For I'm leaving thee behind. 

I admit I once did love you, 

But I love another now, 
And in preference to thee, Elgo, 

I will take with her the vow. 

To protect, yes, love and cherish. 
For I love her, love her well, 

And discarding thee forever, 
I in haste do say farewell. 

Then, when Edward, young and gallant, 
Knew the mystery once so deep, 

Went in haste to this young heiress. 
Ere his eyes did close in sleep. 



107 



108 AFTER SUNSET. 

And he said in tones defiant, 
While his heart was full of pain, 

You have murdered Elo-o Stetson, 
And her death's made thee no gain, 

For I would not wed thee, Mervo, 
If you'd lay within my hand 

All the wealth this world could gather 
Giving it at my command. 

For 3'OU've murdered Elgo Stetson, 
She who I did love so well, 

iVnd for whom I'll always sorrow, 
So I in haste do say far well. 



MY WISH TO-NIGHT, 

Written by request of Mr. Porter Rolls, of St. Louis, Mo., he choos- 
ing the subject to be that of Mother. 

L WOULD I were back to-night, mother, 
l| At home in my little bed, 
■• Where many a prayer was offered for me. 
And many a tear was shed. 

Yes, many a prayer to the Great High Priest 

Was offered up for me. 
That I might grow up into manhood true. 

And from the snares of this world be free. 

But, mother, dear, I regret to say. 
That your prayers, in a sense, were vain. 

For many a snare has taken me in. 
Which has caused me many a pain. 

Yes, many a snare, dear mother, has 

Caused grief to your wayward son. 
But from this on, I pledge myself 

To trust in the Holy One. 



AFTER SUNSET. 101> 



And kneeling now beside my bed. 

As you taught me, mother, dear, 
And saying the same sweet childish pi-ayer 

That 1 lisped when you were near, 
My heart at last, at last I've given 

To Christ who lives and reigns in heaven. 



DEATH UNEXPECTED. 

In lucmorj' of Mr. William McKee, who died very suddenly in the 

harvest field. 

J^. ARELESSLY gath'ring the golden grain. 

Tossing the bright sheaves again and again, 
Heedless of thinking that the Reaper on High, 

Would be gath'ring sheaves in the near b}' and by. 

Ah! heedless of thinking that the Reaper above. 
Would come from his harvest fields of love, 
To pluck a sheaf from this world of sin, 
And that he as a sheaf would be gathered in. 

Yes, the angel of death with his sickle keen, 
Came in the Master's harvest to glean, 
And took the one who was gath'ring the sheaves 
Then from the harvest field he leaves. 

And at the sight of this unexpected one, 

He finds that his life is well nigh done, 

Then he called to his comrade on that mem'rable day, 

That dead in the harvest field William lay. 

Yes, he calls to his comrade, who responds to his call. 
But ere doth he reach him death's victim doth fall; , 

His limp form he raises, but life is extinct. 
And the soul of friend William with eternity linked. 

We cannot say farther, but we hope he's at rest. 
We hope he's reclining on the Savior's breast; 
We hope, ah, yes, he was gathered in 
From the whitened harvest fields of sin. 



110 AFTKH SrXSET. 



WANTi:i) A DIVORCK, OR THF. LAWYER'S J50RE, 

„„^ OOD morning-, Mr. Brown, she said. 
■'^ I suppose that that's your name; 
•Well, you know ould John Flannet»au, 
And you know that I'm his dame. 

I didn't know, the lawyer said, 

Not know-ing what else to say. 
As she scanned him as she talked to him, 

In her queer and easy way. 

You didna know, deed I did; 

I've known it, many's the day. 
Sure, sir, and it's been to mj' disthress, 

And I'm after a divorce the day. 

Well, 1 cannot give you a divorce, he said, 

The coui-t must settle that; 
Court, and it's not after courting- I am, 

I can tell you that mighty pat. 

For you know I was married once before. 
And you know that Booth was his name; 

And you know he was mane, like the rest of the men, 
When I lived wa him at his hame. 

The lawyer took from his shelves a book. 

And turning its pages o'er, 
Thought, of all my sad experiences, 

I've never had such a bore. 

Then said, how h)ng have you parted been? 

Parted been, and what's that do ye know? 
The lawyer getting impatient then, 

And wishing that she'd go, 



AFTEK yrXHKT. Ill 

8aid rather harwlily, liow ]om<>-, how U)n<>' is lie — ? 

AVhy, I think he's about six foot tall. 
O, how long- have jou lived—? Have I lived \va him? 

It's about forty years this fall. 

But. how lon^i" have 3'ou lived apart, said he; 

Now, I suppose you understand. 
Apart, apart, and what's that, do ye know, 

Say, can ye tell me, man? 

Brown findiuf»; it then impossible 

To make her understand, 
Threw hastily open another book, 

Which he held within his hand. 

And read, from the statutes of our State, 

You must live apart one year 
Before the court will j^rant a divorce: 

Now, I suppose you see it clear. 

Deed and i see no divorce at all. 

0, come over here! And have it? 
No, read, yon must stay from him a year; 

Deed, sir, aud I canna do it. 

The lawyer laying aside the book, 

Then said, as he closed the lid, 
Then why did you want to get a divorce? 

Sure, and I thought it would make him gud. 

For as T told ye, I was married once before. 
And 1 tould ye that Booth was his name, 

And you know that I lived wid this man Booth, 
Yes. 1 lived wid liim at his ha me. 

And we had a son, a fine son he was; 

Then poor Booth sickened and died. 
But it was na,' long till FJannegan came 

.\nd tlien the knot was tied. 



12 AFTER SUNSET. 

And me son to Booth is now a man 

And Flanneo-an no likes him at all, 
So he sassed him to-daj and he knocked him down, 

Yes, down to the ground did he fall. 

So r gied out and said, you'll no whip him 

Because he belongs to Booth; 
AVhen, faith and he turned himsel' wa' a whirl 

And gied me one in the mouth. 

And I thought that was pretty fresh; 

What da' ye think? humph, did ye say; 
Then thinks I to mysel', I'll settle wa' ye, 

I'll get me a divorce the day. 

And then Mrs. O'Conner tould me to, 

She said that it settled Tim, 
That he had thrashed her, yes, many's the times, 

And a divorce had settled him. 

So I was dressed just as ye see me here, 
And, says I, will I go o'er this way? 

Sure, and you're good enough, says she, 
So I'm afther a divorce the day. 



HEEDLESS OF THE COMING TRAIN. 

In memory of the unfortunate man. who was killed by the mid- 
night train of the M. & O., and found crushed on the track but a 
few steps from Percy, 111. 



m 



jM^ CRUEL man, who sold the ru 
\1 vTTr That did so craze the brain 
*^vv^ Qf jjjjjj ^y|j(3 staggered on the track, 
Heedless of the comino- train. 



AFTEU sr.Nsiyr. 113 

Do you not at the midnight honr, 

Hear cries of bitter pain, 
From him who reeled along the track, 

Heedless of the coming train. 

And yon, who went upon the bond 

Of him who sold the beer, 
Methinks if you at the midnight hour, 

AVould listen, you would hear 

The oft repeated knocks of him, 

Who cries with wailing sound, 
These words, you caused my sudden death, 

And my blood "cries from the ground." 

<), guilty ])arties, surely you 

Hear cries of bitter pain. 
Of him who'd started for his home, 

Heedless of the coming train. 

But who did never reach it, for 

He on the track was slain. 
Yes, crushed was he, when staggering there, 

Heedless of the coming train, 

His anxious loved ones at their home, 

Watched for him, but in vain, 
For the engine crushed him, as he walked, 

Heedless of the coming train. 

<), God, forgive the ones who caused 

Such bitter, bitter pain. 
To him Avho reeled aloug the track, 

Heedless of the coming train. 




114 AFTER SUNSET. 



WHEN CHRIST COMES. 

I' HEN Christ comes, from grief I'll sever, 
Never more to know it, never; 
And He's coming, for He's promised, 
And His promises are true. 
Then when with my Lord I'll tarry, 
I no more my grief will carry; 
For the Lamb, that blest Jehovah, 
Jesus, Savior, Priest and King, 
Will abate the storm now beating. 
On my faint heart, when at meeting 
I behold Him, "King of Kings." 

When CJirist comes. He'll relieve my sorrow. 

And He's coming, yes. tomorrow; 

And He'll enter through the doorwa}' 

Of this broken heart of mine. 

Then when at that glorious meeting, 

And that happy, happy greeting, 

I shall see my blessed Savior — 

See Him, who is "King of Kings," 

I shall know no more my sorrow, 

On that coming, glad to-morrow, 

When with "these same eyes" I'll view Him^ 

View Him, who is "King of Kings." 

Yes, with "these same eyes" behold Him, 
When the shining heavens unfold him, 
To the view of one who's weeping. 
Weeping, 0! so bitterly. 
Weeping, yes, O! sadly weeping. 
From a storm of sorrow sweeping, 
'Cross my young heart, which is reaping 
Bitterness it knows not why. 
While on eaith naught can abate it, 
And no tono-ue can e'er relate it, 



AFTER SUNSET. 

And no writer's pen can state it, 
E'en the pen that's writino- now; 
Held by her, who feels this sorrow, 
Which some say that she did borrow. 
But the writer knows full well 
That a storm of anguish, streaming: 
O'er her youno- heart, which was dreaming, 
Swept across her pathway, teeming- 
Loads of anguish to her soul. 

But with all this bitter sorrow, 
Christ will, on that glad to-morrow, 
Sweeten, yes, the cup so bitter, 
From whose contents now I sip. 
Long I for His blessed coming. 
Yes, ray heart is ever yearning 
For that blessed King Iramanuel, 
Who will drive my grief away. 

Then what matter if I sorrow, 

If I weep till that glad morrow, 

For Fll wee]) not up in heaven, 

I will only weep below. 

For I'll go with Christ to heaven, 

When my sins are all forgiven, 

And I'll sit me down beside Him, 

When He sits upon His throne. 

And I'll sorrow then, no, never. 

For I'll be with Christ forever; 

Then what matter if I sorrow. 

If I weep but here below? 

When I'll reach that blessed heaven. 

Through the path which Christ has given 

Many a mark of crimson stain; 

Which flowed from His side then riven, 

As He made His way to heaven. 

Here His mission being ended; 

And, thank God, 'twas well, well done. 



115 



116 AFTER SUNSET. 

Then when at His blest ascension 
From this world of dark dissention, 
When the sky was turned to darkness, 
And the earth seemed rent in twain, 
And the saints, who then were sleeping-, 
Bose,. when Kino- Immannel, sweeping- 
In triumphant victory, 
From the cruel cross, ascended 
To the mansion where there blended 
Angel voices sweetly singing. 
Singing of the lamb then slain. 
O, 'twas grand, was His ascension, 
Yes, so grand, that none can mention. 
When the haryjers, in their glory, 
Pla3'ed, while angels sang the story 
"Of Moses and the Lamb." 

Then why need I or another 
Weep when we have such a Brother. 
Who will all our burdens bear; 
He who's anxious to relieve us. 
And who's anxious to receive us. 
To His loving arms of mercy, 
Which are outstretched for us all. 
So, methinks, that now forever, 
I will never more, no never, 
Murmur, but to Christ Fll ever 
Cling, to Him who clings to me. 



AFTKU SINSKT. 11' 



THE PICTURP] OVER THE WAY. 

%i WAS writing a poem about the home that 1 love, 
^1 When I chanced just to look from my window above, 
* And through the glass in the window just over the way, 
I saw a beautiful picture to-day. 

Yes, across from my window a picture I see, 
And were I an artist 1 would paint it for thee, 
But I'll paint for jour fancy and not for your e3'^e. 
For I'm better at rh3aning than painting, and whj^? 

'Tis a babe that some one seems to hold on her breast, 
And 'twould seem that the dear little lamb cannot rest. 
For 'twill catch at the shade with its dear little hand, 
And when I saw it I thought it the sweetest babe of the land. 

Y^es, I was writing a poem about the home that is dear 

To my heart, yet unfinished 'tis lying here, 

For when I noticed the picture, just over the way, 

I thought I would write about that darling to-day, 

As 'twould seem that my thoughts wanted to run in that line, 

And I wished that baby, I wished it were mine. 



118 



AFTER SUNSET. 




FRIENDSHIP'S FANCY. 

ETHINKS I see you on that clay, 
Thouj^li many years have passed away. 
Since a Holland mother, yonthful one, 
Clasped to her breast an infant son. 

With joy she held thee in her arms, 
A babe then blest with beauty's charms, 
And thoiio'h thy hair has changed from oold 
To pure white, yet I behold, 

A beauty still within t\\y face 

Which years, though many, can't deface, 

For still within thy face I see 

A beauty for which I envy thee. 

Methinks I see thee fondled there 
By a Holland mother 3'oung- and fair, 
And well might she, that noble one, 
Be proud of thee, her darling son. 

From infancy to boyhood, then, 
Methinks 1 see thee once again. 
When you in knee pants, pretty bo3% 
Was a Holland mother's pride and joy. 

Then in your teens again 1 see 
The boy I've pictured from infancy, 
Who has arrived at the period when 
All boys then think that they are men. 



And then at last at twenty-one, 
When 3'^ou life's journey then begun. 
When, lo, dame fortune starts with thee. 
And follows e'en across the sea. 



AFTKK SINSIi:T. 



119 



Of life, o'er wliich \^ou've almost crossed, 
Thonoh on whose breast you ne'er have lost, 
The gift and smile of fortune true. 
That has ever overshadowed yon. 

For thousands now do you ]~ossess, 
Perhaps "tis more, not any less, 
Which now within thy honored hand 
You hold, yes, hold at thy command. 

A mass of wealth, ah! yes I say, 
But i:emember friend, there comes a day 
AVhen wealth, now sought for by us all. 
Will nothing seem, when 'neath the pall. 

We lay in peace or torment, one. 
On earth our mission being done, 
When summoned to the court of heaven, 
Our record then to God is given. 

To Him, the Judge who rules above. 
Within that land of light and love, 
Where the author begs, in earnest prayer, 
That you, her subject, may be there. 

That you, the subject of my poem. 

May reach it for th^^ future home, 

To dwell forever in endless bliss. 

Is the prayer of the one who has written this. 

So pause and meditate with me, 

For another life, dear friend, there be. 

Another life comes after death. 

When we have spent our latest breath. 

And "with these same eyes'" will we behold 
The pangs of hell, or heaven's gold, 
So pause, dear friend, at this my ple^. 
And trust in Him who died for thee. 



120 AFTER SUNSET. 

I call thee friend, for thou to me 
Hast surely proven such to be, 
And I, with pride and reverence, too. 
Accept the friendship shown by you. 

With pride, ah, yes, do I behold 
The one whose hair was pure ^old. 
When on thy mother's breast you lay 
In Holland, many miles away. 



I BEG PARDON. 

BEG your pardon, m^^ readers dear, 
But poets you know are very queer; 
Especially so when you add the ess, 
Which, of course, you know makes poetess. 

Well, I beg- your pa.rdon, again I'll say, 
For I thouo'ht I'd finished my book to-day, 
But then my mind seemed full of rhyme. 
So I wrote it down, as I had the time. 

I'm like my sex, who will chano-e their mind, 
If they happen a, better chance to find — 
Even though to one they pledged may be, 
Yes, pledged through all eternity. 

But I won't be too hard on this certain sex,. 
For man, yes, man, he often wrecks 
The lives of those who'd to him cling. 
Even to him, the insignificant thing. 



AFTER SUNSET. 121 



(}()0D AS GOLD. 



>ITTLE Charlie Weston, 
Bright eyed httle boy, 
He's the one to catch girls, 
He would prove a joy. 

He is young and handsome, 

Handsome to behold, 
Catch him if you can, girls. 

He's as good as gold. 

IJttle Charlie Weston, 

Brightest of them all, 
Who was struck on Nellie, 

And on her did call. 

Her mamma didn't know. 
But what did Nellie care, 

Just so Charlie Weston, 
Staid when he came there. 

But Miss Nellie Hamlin 
Has a fair young friend. 

Who went to school with Charlie, 
And notes to him did send. 

Whose name is Miss May Seeger, 
W^ho Charlie loves full well, 

Bnt perhaps I should'nt tell it. 
So I'll ask you not to tell. 



122 AFTlOll SINSKT. 



A WALK IN SORROW. 

LEAVING HOMK FOR SPRINGFIELD. ILL. 

f 

" *HE moi-nin(>,- dawns, 3^e.s, dawiiw at last, 

O'er the home where many joys have passed, 
Passed awaj"^ from the one who now 
Walks out in the morning with elouded brow. 

Yes, out in the morning air I go 
To where my parents are sleeping below, 
^Neath the grave sod, ah, the cold damp earth, 
And the name of her who gave me birth. 

I call, O, mother! 1 call, but, lo! 

Naught seems to answer but the mere echo 

Of my voice which, in broken fragments, would seem 

To fall upon one who was but in a dream. 

But Fm soi-ry, ah, sorry, I am to say. 

That my life was real — not a dream — that day, 

For I lived, 'twas real and not a dream, 

Yes liv^ed while clouds of sorrow did stream 

O'er the heart of the writer, while she knelt 'tween the mounds 

Of her parents, who were deaf to her wailing sounds. 

But I lived in a dream when my parents so dear 
Lived upon earth, their daughtei- to cheer. 
But since those dear ones have been laid to rest, 
A storm-cloud of grief has surrounded my breast. 



AFTKU Sl'NSKT. 12;$ 



DON'T THINK I MEANT TO SLIGHT THEK 

^^^ON'T think that I meant to shg-ht tliee 
l^^'^ljl'ln the poem of yesterday, 

' For I'm sure 'twas not my intention; 
So mark wlmt now I say. 
And jiardon all m^^ errors, 
If any 1 chanee to make, 
For poets are apt to err, yon know. 
Especially if love's at stake. 

Don't think that I meant to slight thee, 
• As 'twas not my intention then; 

For my yonng- heart proudly taught me 

To deem thee the best of men, 

And tt) think of thee last in the evening, 

And first of thee at the dawn; 

So believe me, friend, when I tell you 

That I meant not to slight thee. Halm. 

For when to that land of beauty, 

To the land of love and light. 

Your soul from this woi'ld of sorrow 

Will arise to take its flight. 

And wing its way to heaven, 

To the "(h-eat White Throne" above. 

There to give to (iod thy record, 

Whether wrong, oi- naught but love; 

I pray that God, the Father, 

Will accept thy record given, 

And say to thee, 'tis well, my friend, 

Enter ye the joys of heav^en. 



124 AFTEli SUNHET. 



THOU BLESSED. 
'thy name shall be called blessed among all women. "■ 

^©j^HOU blessed am ong all women, 
'^'^P'Thou blessed virgin fair, 
A Who was chosen by the Father 

To be mother of His Heir, 

The Great High Priest of heaven, 

One of the blessed Three, 

Father, Son, Holy Ghost, 

Which forms the Trinity. 

Thou blessed among all women, 

Thou mother of the Lamb, 

Who, I, when death approaches me, 

Would clasp His wounded palm, 

And cling to King Immanuel, 

When comes niy latest breath. 

Then naught I'd fear and naught I'd ask^ 

If Christ were near in death. 

Thou blessed among all women. 
Thou blessed chosen one. 
Selected by the Father 
To be mother of His Son, 
And thou through coming ages. 
Shall this honored title bear, 
Thou blessed among all women, 
Thou blessed virgin fair. 



AFTKU SI NSET. 120 



LONG A(J(). 



ONG ago 1 kuew no soitow, 
Then sweet joys around nie shown. 

But those joys have taken wings. 
And forever they have flown 

To the sweet and happy long, long ago. 
Long ago, long ago, 

To the sweet and happy long, long ago. 

Once my heart was light and hapi\v. 
And why am I sad to-night? 

'Tis because those golden moments 
Went forever from my sight, 

Tt) the sweet and happy long, long ago. 
Long ago, long ago, 

To the sweet and happy long, long ago. 

Now the world seems naught but sorrow. 

And no solace can it give, 
Yet methinks I ne'er would sorrow. 

If I could but only live 
Li the sweet and happy long, loni*- ago. 

Long ago, long ago, 
In the sweet and happy long, long ago. 

Oft I see, amid my fancies, 
Shadows passing on the wing, 

And I hear sweet strains of music, 
Which so oft faint mem'ries bring, 

Of the sweet and happy long, long ago. 
Long ago, long ago. 

Of tlie sweet and ]ia])])y long, long ago. 



126 AFTER SUXSKT. 

If my paths were strewn with roses, 
And my grief to joys would turn. 

Though 1 owned a world of wealth, 
Still my weary heart would yearn 

For the sweet and hapi)y long, long ago. 
Ivong ago, long ago, 

Foi' the sweet and happy long, long ago. 



ERE WE, DEAR BERT, DID PART. 

BERT, if I could but recline 
Upon thy bosom, even thine, 
My sorrow would be o'er. 
My life would then a heaven be, 
If I, dear Bert, were near to thee, 
Near to the one I love. 

But when, by accident, I met thy car, 
O God, it had been better far 
That I had ceased to live 
Than meet again the one I must 
Love dearly, though I cannot trust 
Thee Bert, e'en though I love. 

So now, dear Bert, you know that I 

In sorrow must forever sigh, 

For thee I ne'er can wed. 

Since j'ou, my dear, will I relate 

The story, Bert, which you did state. 

Ere we, dear Bert, did part. 



Al'TKK SUNSET. 127 



FLAG OF THE EIGHTIETH. 

Addressed to the 80th Illinois Infantry, under which J. W. Snod- 
grass and Archie Stewart were vohinteers. The former, who was 
uucle to the author, died while in the service, and the latter, her 
brother, returned home. 



FLAG of the 80th, weeping; I stand, 
t When beholdino- thj^ loved folds so noble and grand. 
And, though they are tattered, fain would I embrace 
Thy folds which are torn, Avliich the war did deface. 

Yes, flag" of the 80th, fain would I embrace 

Thy folds, e'en though tattered, which the war did deface; 

The war, O, the horrible scenes which are past, 

Yet the memories of which forever will last. 

Dear fla<>- of the 80th, the w'ar's past, but to-day, 
As I stand gazing on thee, a burden does sway 
On my heart, while I think that 'neath thy dear folds 
Hundreds, yes, thousands of dear loving souls 

Died, flag of the 80th, when followiug thee, 
Fighting that the U. S. undivided should be; 
Y^'es, heroes ihey fought, and heroes they fell. 
While the bravery they showed no writer can tell. 

Dear flag of the 80th, with pride do I stand 
While I deem thee the dearest flag of our land, 
For a soldier now sleeps in a lone Southern grave 
Who fought 'neath thy folds his country to save. 

Yes, flag of the 80th. in Georgia to-day 
Sleeps a hero, God bless him! God bless him! 1 say, 
For he. dear to my heart, that dear loving one 
Fought 'neath thy folds from sun unto sun. 



128 AFTEU SUNSET. 

But, flao" of the 80tli, there came a sad da\' 
When from fatigue and pi-ivation he was borne away; 
The ambulance bore him, dear flag;, from thy side 
To the hospital where the patriot died. 

Yes, flag of the 80th, in a far away land 
Without a relative near him save one of his band 
Who had volunteered, too, his country to save, 
E'en though he should fall and fill a lone grave. 

Dear flag, need I tell you 'twas my uncle who fell, 
Who died all alone, 0, the anguish to tell, 
That he died down in (jeorgia without e'en a deai* hand 
His anguish to soothe in a far away land. 

Dear flag of the 80th, his relative, who 
Was his nephew, then was fighting the accursed rebel crew, 
And though not far distant, could not speak to him, 
AVho lay in the hospital with eyes growing dim. 

Yes, flag of the 80tli, in a lone Southern grave 
Lies my uncle, who fought, his country to save; 
And ne'er did a soldier, with a more ready will. 
Fight, than did he at sad Perryville. 

So, flag of the 80th, I'm proud to behold 
The flag which was followed by him noble and bold ; 
Who fullowed thee bravely, till at the thought, I must sigh, 
He was summoned to answer the roll-call on high. 

But, flag of the 80th, I'm thankful to God, 

Though I sigh that my uncle now sleeps 'neath the sod ; 

I'm thankful to God, the dear God above, 

That my brother was spared, a brother I love. 

Who, flag of the 80tli, did follow thee when 
The tears of my mother were falling like rain, 
While she prayed for his safety in teai's thick as dew 
\\'hen bravelv he fou^'ht in the Government's blue. 



AFTER SUNSET. 129 

Deal- flag of tlie 80th, I now must depart, 
Yet, fain I'd stay with thee, dear one to my heart, 
For I love to behold thee, so noble and grand, 
That was followed by one in a far away land, 

Who, flag of the 80th, now sleeps 'neath the sod, 
While his spirit is dwelling in the presence of God, 
Where no more will he hear the dread cannon's sound. 
And no moi-e will he see mound after mound. 

AVhich, flag of the 80th, have heroes concealed, 
The bodies of those who were slain on the field, 
Who had sacrificed home, and friends loving and true, 
And died as brave martvrs, in the government's blue. 



ADVERTISED. 

^* NLY a band of rubber, 

A souvenir to him, 
* On whose desk is this band of rul)ber, 
From morn till day grows dim. 

Only a band of rubl)er, 

A trifling little thing. 
But no, 'tis not so little, 

But instead a very large ring. 

Only a band of rubber. 
Whose owner is yet unknown, 

But who surely can have the rubber. 
If she proves it as her own. 

And pays the expense of this notice, 

Of the souvenir of him, 
On whose desk is this band of rubber, 

From morn till day grows dim. 

—9 



130 AFTi:i{ S INSET. 



ANDERS ON VILLE. 

IN MEMORY OF THE PRISONERS OF ANDERSON VILLE. 

ANDERSONVILLE! Sad Anderson ville ! 
The name strikes in my heart a terrible thrill 
When I think of the sufferings and trials of the men 
That were inflicted on them in that accursed rebel den; 
They suffered for \Yater, they suffered for bi-ead, 
With the sky for a covering- and the ground for a bed, 
And night after night, and year after year 
They suffered this torture in Anclersonville, drear. 

(), Andersonville! that horrible name, 

The mention of which kindles my heart's blood aflame 

AYhen I think of the anguish which the inmates passed 

through 
When imprisoned were they by the accursed rebel crew ; 
Eor, methinks, I can hear the cries of the men 
Begging for water, again and again. 
And for sustenance, too; but alas! they're denied, 
Till fifteen thousand of the prisoners died. 

O, Andersonville! at the ver^' word 

My blood seems to curdle, my anger is stirred. 

When I think of the torture of those poor starving men, 

Who were held there, as prisoners, in that heinous ])cn — 

In Andersonville, yes, that heinous den 

Where, truly, pi-ivation Avas first known by men 

Whose innumerable sufferings no writer can tell. 

For, methinks, it was next to the burnings of hell. 



AKTi:i{ Sr.NSET. 131 

O, Ander.soiiville! Mj God! how it sounds; 

'Twas enoiiob to cause those who slept 'neath their mounds 

To burst forth from their o-raves and kneel down in prayer? 

Calling- heaven to witness the agony there, 

AVhere, at Andersonville, the prisoners lay 

Starving' for bread from day unto day ; 

Yes, shivei-ing- with cold, and starving for bread 

Till fifteen thousand of their number lay dead, 

O, Andersonville! that heinous den, 

The I'ulers of which were the vilest of men. 

For fifteen thousand brave men perished there; 

Yes, perished for sustenance, while their cries filled the air. 

At Andersonville for sustenance they cried, 

At Andersonville, brave martyrs, they died; 

And though not a stone marks the place where they lay. 

Yet their memory's a monument in each true heart to-day. 

0, Andersonville! well may the South 
Forever hold her tongue, and close, too, her mouth. 
For her leaders were, surely, the vilest of men, 
As were those who officiated in that heinous den ; 
But, Andersonville, there's a day coming for thee, 
When, methinks, all thy leaders in torment will be; 
For think of your cruelty to the poor starving men 
That 3^ou held, as prisoners, in Andersonville pen. 

0, Andersonville! Bread Andersonville! 

At the name does my heart with anguish now fill, 

The leader of which now sleeps 'neath the sod, 

Y^et, methinks, he is far from dwelling with God, 

For a traitor he was, a traitor was he; 

Then why disfranchise him, and let him go, free? 

Why didn't "Old Abe" say, ha no- the base one! 

That was the cause of the treacher^^ at Andersonville done? 



132 



AFTER SUNSET. 



WHEN FAR DISTANT. 

ADDRESSED TO MY SfSTER PHEHE. 

\!:^]^T|ji^HEN far distant from you, Phebe, 

l^Jr Though o'er my heart a burden sways, 
I recall the happy moments 
Spent with you in childhood days. 



MY DEPARTURE. 

KETUHNING TO ST. LOUIS AFTER A VlSFf HOME. 

HOME, dear home, is it possible now, 
'That 1, who once wore a blighter brow, 
That I, when I had my parents so dear, 
Knew not a sorrow, not even a fear. 

But now I am left without parents, dear home. 
Yet in thy loved places I came here to roam. 
For as near to my parents as now I can be, 
Dear home, is to linger, to linger with thee. 

And home, blest home, ever dear to my heart, 
I fain would stay with thee, I hate to depart, 
But away on life's voyage, though rough it may be, 
Ao-ain I must go, so farewell to thee. 



FEW. 

(^^EW want to grow old, 
^ Few want to die young, 
But few get what they want. 
And then few hold their tongue. 



AFTKU SINSIOT. IS II 



A fa(:t found I :i) ox fancy. 

KNOW not the lioiir Fll meet with (hnith, 
And be fanned with its icy breeze, 

Ikit one thin^ 1 truly know, dear friend, 
Fll never die with tlie heart disease. 

Perhaps you may ask me to explain 
Why Fm so certain of what I say, 

Well, I will explain, it is because 
You have stolen mv heart awav. 



AUTOGRAl'HS. 

I shall never forget you, no never, 
Fll think of you by night and by day, 

Yes, think of you ever with pleasure 
Though you be absent and far away. 



My wish to thee, my dear friend, is, 
That thy life may happy be. 

And O, that heaven may bestow 
Her richest oiffg on thee. 



The time, perhaps, will soon draw near 

When 3'ou and I shall part, 
Hut thy image still Fll ever keep 

In the mirror of my heart. 



184: AFTER SUNSET. 



Time is swift instead of slow, 
And to the ^-rave we all must "O, 

If you o'O first my heart will burst, 
Because, my dear, I love ,you so. 



I shall never forojet you, no never, 
I'll think of you by day and by nio-ht, 

Yes, think of you ever with pleasure, 
And love vou with all mv mioht. 



1 don't pretend to call you a thief 
But then you have taken a start. 

For to tell you the honest truth, dear friend. 
You have stolen wdiat? My heart. 



My love is as strong as a tornado, 
And as deep as the deepest sea, 

I am longing to change it for your love, 
AVill vou make the change with me? 



AFTKK SUNSET. 133 



-1^ 
7 



DEAR CHRIST. 

EAR CHRIST, Thou who didst die for me. 
Thou who knew iiaiig'ht but ag-ony. 
While you upon the cross did haD.<>'. 
WJien heartless Jews around Tliee san<;- 
Mockings, bitter, dear Christ to Thee, 
Who hung- upon the cross for me. 

Dear Christ, Thou who knew naught but grief, 
Whose anguish. Lord, knew no I'elief, 
Yet, Thou dear Christ did meekly bow. 
E'en while great sweat-drops on Thy brow 
Stood, caused from Thy excessive pain, 
]]re Thy dear heart was broke in twain. 

From Thy excessive pain thei'e stood 
(Ireat sweat-drops, even drops of blood 
Upon Thy brow, dear Lamb of God, 
While Thou beneath the chastening rod 
Did hang, dear Son of (Jod, for me. 
To cleanse me from iniquity. 

The^^ mocked, 3'es, mocked. at^Thee, dear Lord, 

Denying thus the I^amb of (Jod, 

And this inscription did they usp 

()"er Thy dear head, "Hail, King of the Jews," 

Was placed in an inscription there, 

Above the Son of God so fair. 



